Henry and the White Owl
by Robinola
Summary: On the far side of the world, things go a bit differently for a young boy with an unusual amount of control over his magic.  Should be quite long, if I write everything I have planned.
1. Discovery

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter One: Discovery

A young boy with a dusty mop of brown hair sat on the low garden wall, aimlessly kicking his heel back and forth against the stones. A woman passed by, a little too quickly, pushing a pram. A crumpled leaf blew past on the dry breeze, which blew his fringe enough to reveal dull hazel eyes. He was gazing blankly down the street when a larger boy vaulted over the barrier, swinging his knee further to the side than necessary, and clipping him in the back.

"Oi, watch yourself, Carpenter," he shouted, and whacked the smaller boy on the back of the head, "tradesmen like you shouldn't get in the way, ya know."

His companion chuckled mirthlessly as they too clambered over the wall, almost all bumping into the unresisting boy. Their leader made as if to leave, then came back to tower over the seated boy. "Do ya think you can make things any easier for yourself, Carpenter, by being such a weakling, huh?"

The boy so addressed shrugged. "Whatever. I'll see you at dinner, Dewey," he said and glanced briefly in the general direction of the larger boy's slightly ruffled blond hair.

"You'd better not be late getting home tonight, freak," was the only response he got.

As the other boys trotted away, he remained very still, half leaning against the wall, half standing. Once they were safely out of sight, he slowly uncurled his left hand. The ghost of a smile slid across his face at the sight of a few blue flames flickering in his palm. They hadn't noticed a thing, and he'd managed to keep the fire going the whole time they were there. Things were looking up for the boy called Henry Carpenter, as it seemed as though he had not imagined his magic. An auspicious start to his tenth year of life, if he dared to use the word from his Uncle's power words daily calendar for such a forbidden thing as magic.

He stared into the softly flickering flames for a brief moment, then jerked up reflexively to judge the position of the sun, snapping the flame out at the same time. Pushing off from the wall, he walked slowly, almost jerkily down the street of identical little houses, most of which had one of the same two brands of SUV's parked in their driveways. Henry sighed and slipped around the back of the fourth one he came to, and let himself in the back door, only to be greeted immediately by a shriek.

"Dirty freak, what have I told you about my nice carpets, oh and you'd better get to work right now on dinner, and don't think you won't pay for my having to start it, you sullen creature, as if we have no right to expect a little common courtesy from you…"

The rant continued, but his attention was now fixed on the hot stove and his expert dismemberment of a chicken. Later, as he lay on his bed, cot rather—but it was the only bed he'd ever had, and stared blankly at the stairs above him, he thought about dinner. Mostly because he hadn't had more than a few bites, and it had been so good, but also because his uncle's voice was still echoing in his head.

"Well, boy, it does look as though you can be at least semi-competent when pushed to it," Virgil chuckled darkly, "though I can't see who would hire such a dirty freak to work in a kitchen. I do expect you to take plenty of technical classes at Rockford in a few years. We certainly won't be support your lazy body after you graduate!"

Honestly, it wasn't as though he wasn't also dreaming of the day he could finally be free of the Dixons, but it would be another ten years before he'd be of age. More than all of his life thus far, if it could even count as a life. The boy sighed, and fell into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by dreams of being chased, forever, by his fat cousin to the sound of high pitched laughter, cold and cruel.

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Miles and miles away, a nervous young man, ironically named after an ancient Roman governor, was packing and repacking in preparation for a trip to Albania, where he hoped to be of some help in dealing with rumors of a new vampire, one that only attacked in animal guises—not wolves or bats, but serpents. Anything was better than his dead-end ministry job. Perhaps then they'd stop calling him the queer squirrel from the magical creatures department. He would show them that he was good for more than handling security trolls.

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Henry Carpenter awoke with a gasp from a dream featuring Uncle Virgil pushing him off a cliff, which was slightly odd, as the man had never laid hand or foot on him in actual violence. That was reserved for his son, of course. The scene also looked like on of the cliffs of Dover or something British like that. Henry may have grown up being blamed for the move, but certainly had no memories of the country where he had been born. His heart was still hammering in his chest and getting louder—no, that was a knocking on his door.

"Boy, what did I tell you about waking us with unnatural shrieks?" his aunt's voice continued, "and don't even pretend to still be asleep. Since you're up, you may as well get to work on breakfast, and make it a good one."

He wriggled out of his threadbare sleeping bag as he said, "of course, Aunt Peony, would that chocolate porridge you bought last week be alright?" And so it went all day. At least he had school on Monday, instead of a summer break for his birthday, as he would have if they stayed north for the move. Henry was glad the drill company only had a branch here.

It was on the previous day, when he was walking home from school, to shun the bus that Dewey took, that the strangeness had begun. There was a Bird of Paradise, a species which he could have sworn never left Papua New Guinea, sitting on a fence post. As he approached, it took off awkwardly, its huge tail feathers trailing behind. When it landed on his shoulder, Henry was so surprised he almost fell over. He turned to glare at the bird, which spread its wings threateningly in response. On the inside of the wing nearest to his face was a neon pink marking, unnatural even for such a flashy bird. It was swirly and almost crawling across the feathers, and Henry could not keep his eyes off thing. It had pulsed brightly, and then a voice had spoken in his ears from nowhere.

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"This is merely a preliminary message. We wish to inform you of your qualification for the PNG magical preserve education program. More information will follow with educational details at your regular mailing address. Please make a statement indicating that you have received this message, Master Carpenter."

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By this point, the boy had sunk to the cold pavement in shock and was staring blankly at the bird. "Er, um loud and clear, but…" Before he could finish, the bird took off, leaving a very dazed boy in its wake.

He'd spent all afternoon playing with the flames he'd used for most of his life to light his cupboard when locked in, flames he'd thought existed only in his imagination. And now today, Henry still hadn't opened the heavy blank envelope bearing his name that had been in the mail that morning after he'd woken with a nightmare. It lay on top of his chest like a weight that had drawn him down all day from its place under his shirt. Calling up a line of blue fair around the edges of his so-called room, Henry slowly pulled the letter out and opened it.

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Master Henry Evan Carpenter

You are most cordially invited to Her Royal Majesty's Magical Perserve in Papua New Guinea as a student under Her Pacific Rim Educational decree for young wizards and other magically endowed creatures. Please present yourself, should you choose to attend, at the appropriate travel portal with all necessary supplies [see enclosed list] on the first day of the New Year. Congratulations on your Magical status.

Sincerely,

_Horace Wallace_

Assistant Secretariat

Education Dept.

Greater New Zealand

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He stared at the letter, positively boggled at the bureaucratic language. Swallowing hard, he flipped to the next page, which was not the promised list, but another letter.

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To all the dear kiddies:

Don't be too alarmed by that bit of required nonsense. Basically, sometime in your life in this fine region of the world, our magic sensors were tipped off, and your name popped out. Our school here in the jungle's not the only one hereabouts, but unless you want to spend seven years straight inside Ayer's Rock, or hire tutors, we might as well be. We aren't exactly cheap, but hey, that's what student loans are for, and the tutors only cost more. Our students have never had problems getting hired afterwards, and we have the best technomagus program at the undergrad level.

Subjects here include basic shaman lore and ritual, potions from around the world, European wand-style charms and transfiguration, as well as the usual astronomy and words of power based magics and runes. If you don't have a graduate as a rellie, there's an explanation of how to get to magical places and the portals mentioned in the first letter on another page. Acceptance letters should be posted to MPEducation, PNG no later than the next equinox, which means you have about a month to decide.

_Walter Brownleigh_

Headmaster

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Henry let the letters slip from his fingers, numb with a creeping horror at what his relatives would think or do about such a development. The idea that they would allow him to go was unthinkable, as was the thought of not going and learning about magic. Whatever it was, magic or some other mystery, all he had to sustain himself were the coincidences and other strange events and characteristics that made him different from his so-called family. His fingers reflexively traced the Z shaped scar on his face at the thought. It was the only visible damage left over from the attack that had robbed him of his parents and homeland. Henry didn't even know their names, and given that he'd heard his Uncle muttering things like, "at least I got to keep my own initials," he suspected that he didn't even know his name, either.

The days were dragging by, but summer break was coming soon, and with it his chance to find the magical world. If only he wasn't so afraid of responding to the letter, Henry thought as he drifted off into another uneasy sleep.

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Far away, an old man sat behind a cluttered desk, blinking bemusedly at something silver and swirly that was puffing out blue smoke. "I could have sworn that colour meant sleep," he muttered, "but if that's true, the dear boy is practically nocturnal. Oh well, at least he is still safely ensconced with his relatives." He briefly thought of popping over to Surrey to have a peek at the child, but thought better of it. Wouldn't want to take the chance of being spotted, after all.

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The first thing Dewey Dixon, called Big D by his friends and Double D by his enemies, did upon exiting the elementary school for Christmas break was kick his freaky cousin flat on his face into a mud puddle. At the sound of the supervising teacher's gasp, he laughed, "ha—you cant' do anything about it now, bee-otch!" He then dashed as fast as his fat legs could take him for the open door of the waiting school bus.

Henry waited for the sound of the vehicle pulling away before pushing himself up into a kneeling position. Gingerly, he wiped the mud off his face. At least it seemed like his nose was ok this time. A hand fell onto his shoulder, and he flinched.

"Oh, I didn't mean to startle you, Mr. Carpenter." It was the teacher Dewey had yelled at, dear timid Miss Taylor. "Are you alright?"

He smiled up at her as he stood, "yeah, but it's a good thing I've not got glasses, no matter what you think of my vision."

She sighed resignedly, "I suppose so, but now you've missed your bus. I do feel responsible—it is my job to stop things like that. Would you like me to give you a ride?"

He was about to shake his head when a calculating expression came to his face. Was this his chance to get to one of the shopping districts mentioned in the packet from the magic school? "Well," he said slowly, "a ride would be nice, but there's someplace I need to go before home, I could get back from there if you just dropped me off, and…" he trailed off, disgusted at his desperate sounding babble. It was probably pointless—he didn't even have any money.

But the teacher had already perked up considerably. Would the boy finally open up and tell her what was so wrong? "Of course," was what she actually said, "I would be delighted. You don't have to wait till things like this come up, though." He nodded halfheartedly and stood to follow her to the parking lot.

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On a darkened island, a man in a shabby tweed suit stumbled out of a prop plane, muttering curses in Latin upon whomever designed the infernal machines. Once he'd gotten across the tarmac, he was mildly surprised to find only a chain link fence, with no airport in sight. A shirtless man leaning against the gate held out his hand.

"Passport!" he barked, and the first man pulled one out of his vest pocket. "Hmm, Reynard Lowell, education visa—you look too old to be a student," he continued, peering suspiciously at the smaller man's graying hair. Lowell said nothing, but pulled another piece of paper out of the same pocket and handed it over. "Oh how cute, a teaching license. Come to civilize the little savages, have you," the man said with no humor. "Well, go on then, I'll be seeing you again soon enough. Be shocked if you make it a year," he said dismissively.

Retrieving his papers, Lowell walked onto the partially lit main path leading towards the dilapidated village ahead of him. Ignoring the shouts of "taxi, car ride one dollar," coming form the men leaning against a number of rusty jeeps next to the fence, he headed towards a white SUV with a large shield-shaped log that had MPEducation emblazoned in the center. He pulled at his tie anxiously while walking. As lucky as he was to get this position, Lowell just wished it didn't have to be so far away, and so very hot. At least the vehicle had some cooling, was it called air conditioning? He made a note to ask, then settled back into the cushions.

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"Your car is very comfortable," said Henry, "and thanks for giving me a ride. I'm probably going to get mud all over."

"A fact that is hardly your fault," she said, "now, where was it that you needed to go?"

Fortunately, he'd been keeping the letter on his person at all times, and was able to pull out the directions and guide her towards his destination, his future if he was very, very lucky.

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Miles and miles away, a young girl awoke with a gasp. "Mama, mama," she shouted, "oh, it was the same dream," she added in a whisper. "Mama!"

A frazzled woman with disheveled and graying brownish hair burst into the room. "What is it child—another nightmare?"

The little girl nodded, "please, tell me the story with the hero, the littlest hero, please?"

Her mother sighed wistfully and picked up a piece of paper from the dresser with a photo clipped from a magazine pasted to it and sat on the edge of the bed. The girl crawled closer and peered over her mother's shoulder. It was a baby boy with a shock of messy jet-black hair and astonishingly green eyes. A drop of blood sparkled at the end of a lightning bolt-shaped cut etched across his forehead. She was not surprised when his tiny photographic image crinkled into a silent wail of pain. "Once upon a time, not long before you were born, there were two very brave people. They had a little boy, and his name was…" Her eyes fluttered shut as she let the cadences of the familiar story lull her back to peace and sleep. Someday, she would see him somewhere other than in her dreams, and they would have adventures, and he wouldn't have to be alone and hurting all the time.

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Henry Carpenter certainly felt very alone as he stepped into the touristy shop mentioned in that fateful letter. Poor Miss Taylor had been so apprehensive about leaving him there, he'd almost felt bad about lying to her about somebody meeting him, for all that her wished it were true. Swallowing and glancing at the paper one last time, he approached the counter and spoke uncertainly.

"I've been invited to a school in PNG, and heard you might know something about it. Supplies, maybe?" he added hopefully.

The girl behind the counter blinked at him. "God, not another one. Bob's in back, he'll fix you up with whatever the frick it is you creeps are smuggling." She jerked her thumb in the direction of an open doorway with a beaded curtain in the back.

Henry took a deep breath and headed back. This was it. He walked slowly through the nearly empty shop, and had just barely touched the curtain when a large man burst through, nearly knocking him over. "Sorry, so sorry, I'll just, um, go," he burst out, scrambling backwards.

The big man stopped in mid stride and looked at the anxious child. "Ah, you're one of the new students, eh?" He chuckled at the boy's nod, "no need to be so jumpy. Well, grab your parents and we'll get going."

Henry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in a sigh and hung his head, "I'm an orphan, sir, there must be some mistake, I'll leave."

Running a hand through his thinning hair, Bob, for that was indeed the big man's name, frowned down at the lad. "Is that so? Well then, do you have your letter, at least?"

Henry reflexively clutched at the stiff papers still under his shirt, and Bob nodded. At that, the man led him to the archway in the back of the store. What Henry saw was as far from what he had geared himself up to expect as possible. Rather than some quaint cobbled road right out of the Salem Witch Trials, with scaggy hags in pointed hats, he found himself being led through a curtain of floating colored lights, which danced and whirled around, till he almost felt they were traveling in some magical method. And perhaps they were, for upon clearing the eldritch lights, Henry found himself surrounded by a grove of trees, with a winding dirt path, down which Bob was leading him. Not wanting to be left behind, he quickly followed.

They soon found themselves in a large clearing, all decked out with colored pavilions and leafy booths. It was a regular marketplace, with foreign vendors on blankets in-between the booths, and Henry could have sworn that somewhere in all the chaos there was a gypsy wagon.

"Voila!" said Bob, "shop to your little heart's content, and don't ask for me to lead you here next time, squirt."

Henry gaped. "But what about money? The letter says something about my scholarship…" and he began to frantically rustle through the pages in his slightly worn packet from the school.

"You'd best ask the bank about that, lad," said the big man, not unkindly.

"Er, which one?" Henry asked nervously. Did wizards have their own preferred bank, or something?

Bob chuckled, "Gringotts is the big white building at the end of the line. Goblins are right sticklers about having all their branches look the same, even if they stick out like a sore thumb here."

After thanking the big man once more, Henry began to awkwardly pick his way through the merchants, with the line: "I haven't gotten to the bank yet, so I really have no money" becoming some kind of mantra or talisman to fend them off. Once he'd finally made it to the bank the silence and cool atmosphere were quite a relief. He took a long breath to steady himself before approaching one of the funny wooden desks that were much too tall for the Goblins. Personally, the boy thought they were much too fierce looking to be mild-mannered bankers.

"Name, sir," the goblin barked, startling him out of his dazed reverie.

"Erm, Henry Carpenter," he replied.

"Key, please," it replied in a dull tone.

"I haven't got one, as I'm here about a scholarship to, um, the school of magic in PNG, I…" he trailed off at the glower from the banker.

"The letter!" it barked at him. It was produced, and he was given a small sack of coins, which he was surprised to see were made out of mother-of-pearl. Upon seeing his look of confusion, the creature sighed and handed him a business card emblazoned with the bank logo before calling out: "Next!"

Henry awkwardly shuffled out of the way while reading what was apparently a self-updating list of conversion rates for the Pacific Rim magic consortium's "valid magic tokens" to the various local currencies. As far as he could tell, given the amount of tokens he had, if prices were at all similar to those in the outside world for school supplies, he would have to be thrifty in purchasing his supplies. Henry sighed, glad that he had at least some practice bargaining, courtesy of Aunt Paisley's grocery shopping errands. Finally pulling out his supply list, Henry sighed upon seeing its length. Bugger being able to afford everything—he'd probably have to figure out a way of making a second trip just to carry everything, on top of the upcoming difficulty of hiding everything from his horrible relations! Now he began to actually read the list, absently sitting down on the ostentatious steps up to the bank.

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Uniform: 5 sets of standard fatigues

2 pair workout shorts and shirt

1 pair dragon hide boots and gloves

1 beekeepers hat, enchanted

Books: Hughbert Darkling—Runes and Glyphs

Wayne Omagachi—History of Magics vol. 1

Lily Evans—Basic Potions Made Easy

Marion Bloomburg—Wild Plants

Xlotle Colombo—Wands and Daggers: Simple Defense, ed. 5

Sydney Borgia—The Stars and You, trans. Nancy Guelf

Henrietta Macey—Proper Grammar and Writing

Junius Enger—Standard Maths

Items: 1 Triple-Trunk

1 stone cauldron, standard size 3

5 Erlenmeyer flasks, 500mL

1 E-Z start potions kit

I brass telescope with stand

5 standard reams of parchment

1 calligraphy set

5 bottles of India ink, indelible

1 ritual knife, stainless steel only

1 wand

I focus ring

Optional: casual clothes for weekends, appropriate games

1 pet, either a snake, cat, rat, toad or post owl. Dogs are forbidden!

Broomstick or flying carpet, not both

Erik Zimmerman—Magikal Theory Quantified and Codified

Other magical reference books

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Henry decided to begin with the trunk, if he could figure out what the triple part meant, so as to have somewhere to put the rest of his purchases as he went along. Drifting with the now bustling crowd, he scanned for trunks, and was only a little surprised to find a booth constructed wholly out of stacked trunks, off to one side. Feigning disinterest, Henry listened to the proprietor harangue some other customers about all of his great options: double! Triple! Quadruple! Even five and six compartment trunks. The internationally approved auror standard with the seventh consisting of a temporary cell for prisoners! Shrinking and featherlight badges affixed gratis with the purchase of 30 vmt or more! Many fin choices of hardwoods, or even leather bound!

Henry sidled up to the man as he wiped sweat off his brow after completing the sale. "Have you got anything used? My mother (he lied) thinks I'll just beat my good trunk to death at school, and since I really only need the standard triple with shrink.." he said in a confiding tone, "let's get this done quick so I can look at interesting stuff!"

"Oak'll take the most wear," the man muttered, leading him to the back of the booth, "which is why I get the most of them back used…O course, if you only get shrink, it'll still weigh as much as it does right now."

Henry was opening each of the three latches in turn, each of which revealed nearly identical compartments, which still had a bit of debris left by the former owner. "What about with all of my stuff in here?"

The man swelled up with pride. "All my trunks are a standard weight of 4 kilos, unlike those shoddy European models! If you had to figure in all those compartments, nobody'd buy my moving out model!"

He'd had to pay an extra token for the option with little wheels at one end so it could be pulled like a suitcase, as well as the shrink badge—just tap it, but sincerely hoped that 11vmt was not too much. Henry had found all of the textbooks, even the optional one, after what seemed like hours rummaging through the used book bin at the Borders with Magic pavilion. The apothecary cave was very creepy-looking, but has an early bird sale on standard potion kits and refills right out front, so it didn't matter. The only thing besides that and his wand that he'd bought new was the cauldron, as a "well-seasoned brewer" cost more. Focus rings could be upgraded with crystals and such, but were basically all the same holy Tonga wood, and apparently students were constantly trading them in for a better fitting size, he discovered.

His wand actually cost him 9 vmt as the Quetzalcoatl feather core had been imported from Brazil. It had taken forever to find a match, and a long rant from the proprietor about how lucky he was that the wandmaker's apprentice was from the Amazon and had brought supplies with him, or he'd never had gotten such a wand. Henry had skipped right past the pet shop, sporting goods store, and magical game spot. In the end, he had only 3 out of his 50 allotted tokens, as well as 16 wooden nickels (30 to the token) a growling stomach, and no idea of how to get back to his relative's house. Wearily, he made his way back down the winding path and through the dancing motes, which were almost blinding now that night had fallen.


	2. Arrival

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Two: Arrival

When he got out of the shop, it looked as though the area was in full beach party mode, a happy coincidence, considering the numbers of people coming out of that one shop with him. Considering that he'd already missed dinner, Henry was tempted to buy something to eat from a vendor with the measly amount of money he'd saved up from shopping for his relatives (not even enough to be worth converting) but as it was, he had to chase down the last bus heading back to their neighborhood. That night, as he lay on his cot and stroked his miniaturized trunk, Henry decided that the day was definitely worth the hunger and bruises for the late return. He was a wizard, as his eucalyptus wand clearly demonstrated every time he gave it a little wave. The rainbow sparkles that poured out the end shed little light in his cupboard, but they were the brightest and best thing that had happened to him in what passed for his life.

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As Henry Carpenter, boy wizard, drifted off to sleep with a smile on his thin face, far away in a winter-dark forest, a dark shade moved restlessly from one hibernating snake to another, hissing empty threats. Someday soon it would find something bigger and better, return to claim all the magical world and crush the filth beneath its feet. Revenge would be as sweet as the visions of field mice dancing through the minds of its scaley hosts. Yes, it would swallow that insolent brat whole, and the meddling old man's horrible bird as well.

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The weeks leading up to Christmas were as torturous as usual for Henry, as his relatives kept him slaving in the garden through the hottest hours of the day, while they went to the many patio parties and cookouts hosted by his Uncle's business contacts. The only break the boy got was when they held one of their own, and chased him out of the house for the day, despite their desire to skimp on catering by forcing Henry to cook. On those days, he wandered the neighborhood, and brooded in the local playpark, hungry but happy. When nobody was watching, he even attempted a few of the easiest-looking spells in the books, all of which he read at any opportunity, such as being locked in his cupboard for some imaginary offence.

On Christmas day, after receiving the usual packet of outgrown and damaged clothes his Aunt saved up from his cousin's wardrobe, Henry informed his relatives of his altered educational plans. Despite his expectations of an explosion, the conversation had gone fairly well, thanks to the school's second letter, in response to his acceptance letter with its queries about break housing and the location of the mentioned travel hub. The school was already on a year-round schedule, giving it at most three week breaks in-between quarters, and nearly half the students stayed on any given break.

If Henry would leave them and never return at the tender age of nine, they would be happy to take him to the travel terminus on the required day, even if it was in the next town. They actually ended up dropping him off in the early evening on New Years Eve on their way to a party. Henry was left sitting on the edge of an old fountain with all of his worldly possessions in his backpack, with no idea of where or how he would pass the night. He had just started to doze off where he lay on the stone ledge, when the sound of small wheels clattering over sidewalk cracks broke his reverie. The small family passing by would have been nothing out of the ordinary if not for the large trunk being pulled by an exuberant young boy. The boy's free hand waved about as he said something about finally being able to go to school, a comment which his parents fiercely hushed with a statement about having to wait till morning.

Henry got up and moved to intercept them as they made their way towards the grand old hotel bordering the square. When they were nearly upon him, he stopped, unable to think of a single thing to say. What if he mentioned magic only to discover that he was wrong in thinking that the other boy was headed to the same school as him? And then they were upon him, and the question was taken out of his hands. The father halted, and spoke to him with just a touch of gruffness, "what do you want, boy? Be quick or get out of the way."

Before Henry could collect himself, the boy burst out, " I say, are you a tramp? Why're your clothes so huge? Do you want money?" His parents sighed.

Henry swallowed. These, at least were questions he could answer. "No, but I am an orphan. I share clothes with my cousin, and he's loads fatter. I just want to know when the travel terminus opens up. My Aunt and Uncle dropped me off already, cuz they thought I could stay in a waiting room for a few hours till the New Year starts, but they left before I noticed the place is closed. I guess I'm supposed to leave first thing in the morning, then…"

"So you've got no place to go and are assaulting all passersby trying to get them to take you in, boy?" the father said, harshly.

"Honestly, dear, he's younger than Phil," the boy's mother hissed. "I'm sure he was only coming to us because we're parents."

Henry nodded miserably. "I'm sorry, I was just fine waiting by the fountain, I'll leave you all alone."

"Wait, are you going to school, too?" the boy gushed, "how come you aren't more excited, what's it like being an orphan? Wanna come play 'sploding cards with me while we wait up for New Year's in the hotel?"

Henry was lucky, it seemed, as the boy's parents could deny their son nothing, for all that they tried to be strict. He had hoped that he would be treated to a magical game, but it seemed that exploding cards was Phil's version of the card game of war, in which he would randomly shout "kaboom" and throw all his cards in the air. Mercifully, the boy's parents slipped him something to knock him out in his New Year's toast, and both boys fell asleep in their clothes in a nest of disordered blankets and cards on the large bed. Henry awoke shortly after dawn, as usual, and slipped out of the room to see if the travel office was open and ready for business. Upon seeing that half an hour still remained, he slunk off to the one bakery that had already opened and bought the cheapest doughnut on the menu, which he ate while sitting on the fountain and staring intently at the door in question.

At seven sharp, an ordinary looking woman in a skirt suit made her way towards the door, opened it, and reversed the sign that said closed before heading inside. Henry waited for several minutes before getting up to follow her in. He made his way nervously up the stairs to what appeared to be a smallish upstairs office. Approaching her desk at the far end of the small waiting room, he said, "Is this the south-west office of the Provincial travel terminus?"

She nodded, then blinked, "aren't you a bit young to be traveling by yourself, young man?"

"The letter never said anything about parents, just that I should present myself at this office first thing in the morning on the first day of the year," he replied, hoping she wouldn't make him leave. "Actually, I came here with the Emersons," he added, mentioning the family he'd stayed with, "but I just couldn't wait any longer to get to school."

At this, the woman smiled, an expression that almost made her look pretty. "That's just how I felt. Now I'll need to see your letter to activate the portal seal, if you please."

"What's a port-seal?" he asked, confused, "and which letter—I got so many in my packet."

"A portal seal is one of the magical methods of travel. Your school is authorized to charge their seal, which is on the first, and most official letter, and it takes you there when activated at the proper time by this or another such office," she recited, and plucked the necessary paper from his bundle.

"How," he burst out, "is it like getting beamed up? Did I come at the wrong time? I can wait…"

The woman shushed him, softly, "Nonsense, as long as you don't go a the same time as another seal, you'll be fine. Most people all show up at eight and I have to make them wait, even though it is nearly instantaneous—you don't turn into a pillar of light like on that ridiculous show. Now are the Emersons, was it, going to wonder where you've gotten to, Henry?"

"No ma'am," he said softly. "I don't think so, but I think they'll be coming through here later, so if they do, you could tell them I went already. I just got a ride from them into town," he lied.

"Now Henry," she said, "do you have all of your luggage ready for school on your person?" and when he nodded, she continued, "Hold out your hand, and put your finger on the seal. You can put away the rest of the papers first."

She tapped the seal with a wand, and Henry felt the world disappear under his feet, and a strong sensation of being dragged, spinning, by the finger that was now stuck to the school crest. As soon as the feeling started, it was over, and he crashed to the ground, which was unfortunately quite hard, being a mosaic representation of the seal in his hand. He groaned and got up, quickly staggering away from the spot, in case someone else was about to arrive there on top of him. Only then did the young wizard begin to look around him. He was near the center of a courtyard in an elegant colonial building which had, as far as he could see, two story porches and large windows on three sides of the square. The fourth was an elaborate wrought iron gate that was currently open to a gravel drive through a very lush rainforest.

"Welcome to Papua New Guinea," Henry whispered to himself, though there were a number of other children milling about the courtyard, some still arriving on other copies of the seal. An older boy bumped into him, giving Henry a perfect opportunity for questioning. There were so many things he wanted to know, but all he really got out was, "Hey, do you know where new students are supposed to go? I don't see any welcoming committee."

"No idea, heck, I'm new here too. You'd think the letter would mention something, right? The only open door is that big one in the center, though," the larger boy replied, good-naturedly, "wanna try going there together? That way neither of us will look stupid alone."

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Far away on another island's main magical school, the dozen or so students who had stayed for the Christmas and New Years holidays were having an epic snowball war. All of them, that is, except for the youngest, a skinny redheaded boy in glasses, who was watching from a window. He was there to do homework, not to play around. What he was trying to avoid was the thought that this would be his last year before the younger brothers whose presence at home made school desirable would invade the sacred halls of academia. It would be years before he could have another peaceful holiday, given the kind of rampant pandemonium that they produced so regularly. Everyone else thought they were so special, even the few friends who had forced him to invite them home.

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Henry had gone with the other boy, and they found a number of students sitting around on their trunks in what appeared to be some kind of vestibule or entrance hallway. Pretty much everybody ended up trickling in, and he was surprised to discover that he was nearly the youngest there, and definitely the smallest. It seemed as though going hungry in his relatives house had dome more damage than he thought. Otherwise, there was no way he could naturally be smaller than the chattering eight-year-old girl from New South Whales. It was nearly noon by the time a squeaky voice announced that all the beginning students had both arrived and made it into the atrium. It was actually quite cramped in there by then, and Henry had to jump up on another boy's trunk to see that the squeaky voice belonged to a very small man.

"I am Professor Frederick Filson, and I am the staff expert on wanded magic. Currently we are in the main entrance to this fine institute, which is naturally located in the central wing," he said in a very pompous manner. "Now if you would please line up in alphabetical order, we may proceed into the school proper."

As the name Carpenter made our hero only fifth in line, he could hear the little man muttering about the unfairness of losing some competition for the charms position back in Britain against his own brother. Henry smiled, hoping that sometime he would have a chance to ask for some information about the country in which he too had been born. By then the line had formed, and the professor led them down a hallway. It soon became apparent that they were not headed for any particular destination, but in fact on a tour, when he started mentioning the purposes of each room they passed. Henry could hear the kids who had been dragging unshrunken trunks complaining behind them. They had just reached an area the professor said was where all the teachers had their offices, when a jovial-looking man dashed out of a room towards them.

"Oh, Fred, thanks for filling in there for me, ol' boy," he boomed, "never have gotten used to all those pesky details that come with being in charge of this place." He then had everyone leave there luggage right there in the hall—apparently it should have stayed in the atrium, as the staff would take it to their assigned rooms. Mr. Brown, as their headmaster preferred to be called, was actually short for Brownleigh, as Henry recalled. He seemed to be very excited about both sports and the large number of new students that year. The boy was just able to slip in a query about their ages.

"Oh drat," the headmaster replied, "I knew I'd forgotten something in those letters. We send them out to any student who's had an incident of accidental magic with enough output to set off our sensors. Your abilities grow with you, of course, and all of you have magical cores big enough that you need to learn to control the output, or else all of our careful attempts at secrecy would be undone."

He then returned to his ardent soliloquy of their dual quadpot and quidditch stadium, which was also capable of a few simple modifications to allow for an intramural aerial murderball league to also play games there. "…Of course, we also have five different practice fields, all of which can be booked for individual team practices…" he droned on at his continual half-shout. Henry sighed. So far they had only gotten a glimpse of a few classrooms, on of which resembled a dojo, and another that looked like a chemistry lab. Fortunately, the tour ended in the cafeteria, which was in another, less formal-looking courtyard, and had "extensive weather-repelling wards" that allowed it to be used during the rainy season.

Henry was just happy to see that among the scattered round tables there were numerous elevated garden boxes with small trees. Even if he didn't have a friend group to eat with here, like at his old school, he'd at least be able to perch on the broad retaining walls of the boxes and still eat in the cafeteria. No more hiding or sitting at an unusually empty table or whatever. But this was not the case today, as all of the nervous students ended up in a cluster at the end of the cafeteria nearest to the serving line. They chatted about many things, like where they were from, or what each had done to get the invitation letter, after some half-hearted introductions.

"Neither of my parents knew about magic," said a boy who had introduced himself as James Worthington. "They were pretty glad about the letter coming, though, especially since it came so soon after the garden burst into flames when I was supposed to weed it."

"Man, I wish I'd thought of trying to do that," Henry interjected, "I swear that our garden was almost more loved by my aunt than her own son, as spoiled as he is, and I had to do all of the freaking work."

"You should be glad that's the worst you have to deal with," said one of the oldest boys there, "my father is one of the top witch doctors at Ayers Rock and has been trying to get me to do magic since I was three. He was rowing with the other teachers about getting me in despite their age limit and my lack of magic when I apparated myself here. Even he couldn't deny it as a sign I should stay here."

"Yeah, well, my mother's real heavy into Wicca, and she wanted me to disguise myself as a boy and try to get into that Satanic Spanish place," said a girl named Angelina Wu. "I only qualified for this place because my dad was posted in Hawaii with his division last year."

There were also quite a few speculations about housing arrangements, which hadn't been mentioned in their letters or even shown on the tour. After their late lunch was over, a lumpy looking individual standing on one of the low walls addressed them. "I am Garuda, chief of staff at this institute, golem of golems. I am in charge of day-to-day operations and all other golems that are working here to keep everything running smoothly. Any destruction of property, including all of the golems, will be reported to me, as I have the authority to punish and fine you students." At this point he was interrupted by some query or comment Henry couldn't hear. "Only I have been given the gift of life, and as I have the master rune, all golems follow my instructions only. Do not attempt to give them orders yourselves. Now come, and I will show you the student residential wing."

When they got to the student wing, the creature stopped them in one of the various common areas and explained that all rooms were doubles, and that all returning students had their pick of roommates. "Avery, Howard-come forward-Jones, Belinda and Lutz, Daniel—you were all requested as roommates by your older siblings, while the rest of you will be on the fourth floor, in rooms assigned by alphabetical order. Obviously, you are also sorted by gender," he said with a pointed look at some giggling children before briefly consulting some official-looking document. "Transfers from one room to another must be approved by all parties involved and take place no later than the first two weeks of class." He continued on for a while, going over what appeared to be basic rules of conduct.

At this point, Henry was not surprised to hear mutinous mutterings from nearly everyone. Legalese aside, they already knew by now that four floors was the maximum for any building on this campus. They had been given the most inconvenient rooms possible. At this point the golem cleared his throat. "Pay attention now. All rooms are labeled with occupant's names, at least temporarily. Simply place your hand, one of you at a time, on the glowing oval in the center of the door and state your full name, including any middle names, prefixes, titles or numbers legally included. These spots function a bit like mundane palm locks, except that you will be keying them into your magical signature. A simple touch should open them in the future. Now find your rooms, I've got better things to do than baby-sit your lot." With that the golem left the cluster of students in the middle of the hallway.

Henry shrugged and led the way up to the fourth floor, having spotted the stairs while listening to the golem drone on about conduct. Upon spotting the one with his name on it, he swallowed and put his hand on the door, worried momentarily that the magic wouldn't work, especially if he was in fact not going by his real name, as he was beginning to suspect. "Henry Evan Carpenter," he said very clearly. The door clicked open just before the most hyper boy in their group practically rammed him, as he was coming at a dead run.

"Oh hey, aren't we supposed to do that together, Carpenter," the boy half-shouted.

"No, they want individual magical signatures. Look, I'll close it so you can have your turn," Henry replied quickly, irritated by the boy's inability to pay attention.

"Oh, right. Evil full names. Lawrence Adrian Blake the fourth. And don't you dare call me anything but Blake, hear!" He said, and pushed his way into the room. "Damn, I was hoping for a corner room. Maybe next year, right mate?"

He kept up a nearly constant stream of chatter, without waiting for any answer to any of his questions, leaving Henry to thing that they must be either rhetorical or just a quirk of his new roommate's tone of voice. As a result, Henry was the one who noticed the schedules for this quarter sitting on the desk in their room. Apparently, the whole group of beginners would be taking the same classes, just in two groups, with roommates having opposite schedules. It was a block schedule, with classes in a regular classroom setting on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, while practical classes were on Tuesday and Thursday. They had Saturday and Sunday off, and he remembered that most athletic events would happen on Saturdays.

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M/W/F

7—Serving begins for Breakfast

9—Basic Arithmancy, Laurel Enger

10—Intro to History of Magic, Wayne Omagachi

11—Lunch

12—Writing and Runes, Reynard Lowell

1—Afternoon Break

5—Serving begins for Dinner

7—Cafeteria closes

8—Astronomy, Aranda Watkins

**T/T**—Wear workout clothes for all classes

7—Serving begins for Breakfast

9—Physical Education/Defense, Coach Richard Carter

11—Lunch

12—Herbology/Potions, Marion Liberachi

2—Afternoon Break

5—Serving begins for Dinner

7—Cafeteria closes

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Henry knew he would end up being the first boy in the showers every morning, a lingering habit from his early years of having to get up and make huge breakfasts for the lard balls who called themselves his relatives. At least he could use this extra time most every morning to read ahead in his textbooks, and especially the extra one on magic theory. He also noticed a note saying that as tomorrow was Sunday, all students were invited to attend services at the nearby Lutz family mission if they so desired. All of them, however, were required to report to the hospital wing sometime between lunch and dinner for the required annual physicals.

Henry decided to try and find the hospital wing ahead of time, since he had no intention of going to church and wanted to avoid having to waste any time after lunch looking for his destination. He found it behind a pair of cool frosted glass doors and was just looking glancing around the waiting room when a nurse bustled up. "Run along now, dear," she said, "you know professors kids aren't supposed to be here without parents."

Sighing at the ongoing problems with his size, and asked, "What about students, dear," in a teasing tone, "or should I just run off till after lunch when I'm supposed to be here?"

"Lord preserve me," she said, "you get smaller every year. Why do they never listen when we suggest a nice set age for first years, like every other school? Honestly, we only said after lunch because nobody thought any of you'd be up. You might as well come in now for your check-up."

She had him fill out a form with his name on it, which had a lot of unfortunate questions about the kind of health care he'd gotten previously, which honesty demanded he mark as none whatsoever for all of the categories. When she frowned while reading over the form, he could guess pretty well it was the reason. Then he was whisked back into a small room which was full of strange instruments that he couldn't stop looking at, and Henry wondered which ones were magical, never having been to a real doctor's office before. She had him lay down on a weird bed thing that was covered with a piece of paper before pulling out a large clear crystal, which she passed up and down his body while chanting something under her breath, a procedure that he was sure had strictly magical origins.

As she did so, it took on a number of different colors for each part of him covered, which appeared to be quite alarming to her, given the way her eyebrows rose higher and higher. "You poor boy," she breathed, before collecting herself, "I must say it was a good thing you came here early, Mr. Carpenter, given the kind of things that have happened to you in your short childhood. I'm going to go get some specialists, so don't go anywhere."

At this, Henry pressed his hands over his eyes, no longer interested in the objects in the room. He could already tell that it flashed a different color for broken bones than the scars he'd gotten from cuts and scrapes, and shuddered to think about the other things that had probably been indicated by her detector. If there was anything that could be done for him magically, he knew he'd be in for a long day of medical procedures. It was not long before she returned at the head of a small procession of people, including a man with a monocle, both a man and a woman wearing the same weird dress as her, and a woman dragging an enormous briefcase full of strange glass bottles. They assembled themselves in a semi-circle around his bed before the first woman spoke.

"Now Henry," she said in a very familiar way, "as I've just been telling these fine people, initial diagnosis has indicated at least a dozen broken bones healed naturally, severe bouts of malnutrition every year but your first, undiagnosed nearsightedness, two different bindings on your magical core, and something evil attached to your forehead. We're also going to need you to undress completely so that we can assess your impressive collection of scars."

"Are you going to be able to fix any of it?" he said in a suspicious tone, as he began to take of his shirt, "because otherwise I don't really care for everybody to know how bad it is."

"I think we should be able to address most of your problems, since you seem to be naturally healthy boy, as indicated by the fact that you've managed to have no cavities, despite never going to a dentist," said his original healer, "though I can make no promises about the dark magic on you. That is a specialty of Mr. Bones." She indicated the man in the monocle.

After that, they stopped directing any comments to him, and after swallowing a few vile concoctions, he found his world dissolving into unconsciousness. The next thing he knew, the fading colors of sunset were shining through a window he hadn't noticed before, and his roommate Blake was demanding something from the nurse blocking the doorway. He groaned as he tried to sit up, and this brought her right over, with Blake trailing at her heels.

"Awake already? How do you feel? Mr. Blake here wants to take you down to dinner with him," she said, rather unnecessarily, given what he'd overheard the other boy yammering on about.

"My mouth tastes horrible," he groaned, not mentioning the accompanying headache, "if food helps, I'm all for it."

"Very well then," she said, grabbing a small black case and opening it to reveal a number of test tubes. "These are nutrient potions that you must take with every meal. You're also to report in for a check up and refill of these once a week until I tell you otherwise, young man. Do you understand?"

"Of course," he said, "but what about my eyes, you mentioned something about them, do I need glasses or something?"

"No," she said, "we were hoping that they would improve as you recover nutrients. Mr. Bones is still working on your last problem, but your bindings have been removed. I suggest that you exercise great caution in using your magic outside of supervision until you are comfortable with the higher levels of power you may feel."

"Now can we go?" Blake finally burst out, "I'm starving and everyone wants to know what's wrong with Carpenter here." With that, he proceeded to drag an unresisting Henry out of the room and towards the cafeteria.

At dinner, much to his roommates displeasure, he refused to go into more detail than needing to have his body repaired from malnutrition, an explanation that was definitely required, both by his case of potions and his having gained at least two inches in height already. In fact, he would end up putting on at least an inch a week for most of his first year at the school, to his endless delight, until he was the tallest boy his age in attendance. But for this night, mostly all he noticed was that he had never been so hungry before in his life. Apparently doctor's visits take a lot more energy out of you that anyone would think. He was not the only one going to bed early, however, as the next day was the start of classes.


	3. Fear of Fire

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Three: Fear of Fire

When Henry arrived in the classroom labeled Arithmancy, which was the wizarding world's code for math or algebra, he was surprised to discover that he was the only person there, except for a young woman he assumed was the teacher. She had long brown hair and a worried expression as she paced behind the teacher's desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. He coughed to get her to notice him, before asking, "you're Miss Enger, our teacher, right?"

"Oh yes," she said, "I cant believe my father convinced me to come back here and take on classes for the lower years."

"How come this class is called arithmancy, not math?" He ignored her rambled comments, remembering how poor Miss Taylor, his favorite teacher before, had been at first. "Is it like arithmetic in another language?"

"Honestly," she said, "nobody's ever told me. It's what I'm used to calling it, no matter what they called it at college, but I bet your answer is right, anyway. You seem to be a bright boy, Mr.—where are you from?"

"Carpenter, miss, I'm from Australia," he replied politely, "although I think my family moved there when I was a baby. Why is there a magical term for math? How do we use it in doing magic stuff?"

The rest of the class shuffled in while she gave him the answer, which had something to do with ritual-based magic and warding buildings, mostly. Almost everyone had some question for her, which kept her talking for most of the hour, before she was able to get around to taking attendance. It ended up being the most interesting class of the day, since the others mostly just handed out a homework schedule and lectured a bit on what they would be doing that semester. At least Professor Lowell had cracked a few jokes; mostly at the expense of the school he'd gone to, which had just made everyone figure out how to write essays by themselves.

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At the same time, in a modest suburban home, a young girl with a riotous mass of tangled brown curls sat at a small desk, bent over an array of books. She was frantically scribbling down notes on a pad of paper illuminated by a small desk lamp when an older woman leaned in the doorway of her room.

"Darling, did you remember to brush your teeth?" she said in the tones of a person who has oft repeated the same line, "I want you to be able to go right to sleep at midnight, young lady, no matter how important your studies."

"Mother, you know I just have to pass these placement tests," the girl replied, a hint of a whine creeping into her voice, "not that I'm likely to make any friends in secondary, but the sooner I get to university the better, right?"

Her mother shook her head fondly and left the room, neither of them having commented on the way the girl's dictionary's pages were turning themselves. After all, why mention something so very commonplace?

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Phys. Ed. and Defense was held in a large field house, which made the class seem rather small and pathetic as they were clustered down at the end nearest the door to the rest of the school. They were just starting to whisper amongst themselves when a short but very muscular man burst through the glass door next to the main entrance. "Hello kiddies!" he boomed, "I am Coach Carter, here to teach you how to defend yourselves. Those of you who have gone to regular schools, prepare yourselves for gym and martial arts."

"What about magic, sir?" said a student near the front, "curses and such. Or if we already know some martial arts?"

"You are quite right, boy," the coach replied, ignoring the student's disgruntled remarks about being a girl, "this week's sessions will mostly be skills tests. My TA's from the upper levels will be pretty much running this class when they come back. Magic will come a bit later, once you've got some more ability."

"What does physical fitness have to do with magic, professor?" the same girl said.

"If you can't dodge spells, how can I expect you to shield yourselves from magic, eh? Considering the secrecy act, I'd expect you'd be happy to be able to defend your sorry selves without magic, anyways," replied the teacher.

They all grumbled, but after that, the class dissolved into a rather depressing review of every PE class ever, as the coach ordered them to do laps and count how many crunches each other could do. He was very critical of how the students did everything, declaring most of them hopeless. Henry could feel his magic building up very quickly, almost more than it could even when his uncle was yelling at him. He grit his teeth as he did the crunches, trying to funnel the swelling power into his muscles. Having a blow out in school had never gone well for him before. It didn't help that the healers had obviously been far from kidding about the binding on his power being removed. Control had never been so difficult, nor had crunches. The coach had their partners sitting on their outstretched legs, and a conjured bar floating above their heads. Supposedly it was there to count their repetitions, but mostly it kept them from sitting all the way up, making them work harder.

It wasn't even the Coach whose comments were making him so furious, per se, though he'd never been pushed so hard in a gym class. No, it was one student in particular. Every time their teacher would single students out to correct their technique or running form, he would snicker and make comments, till everyone near him was laughing as well. Crowley was one of the more wealthy kids there, a son of an Australian Cattleman, who'd apparently had tutors in these areas at least, if his comments were to be believed.

"Hot damn, I hope we start on placing for martial arts on Thursday," the sandy haired Bruce was saying, "Sensei would have my head if I ever got to be half as much of a lump of fat as that kid. I feel sick just being around these failures."

Everyone tittered nervously at this, except Henry, who practically exploded. He turned to the other boy, who was across the group from him, and punched his hand forward, palm open. The air seemed to ripple with an unseen force or shockwave, making the kids between them stagger, before it hit Crawley, who was flung backwards and against the wall and pinned to the mats there.

"Do not torment others," he growled with an unnaturally loud voice as he walked towards the older boy, arm still outstretched, "I will no longer abide those who prey on the weak. Do you understand, or have your teachers never told you what your strength is for?"

A hush fell over the scattered students, and even Henry was surprised by his words. Their teacher was the first to break the silence. "Release him, boy," he paused when a very cowed Henry dropped his hand and curled into a hunched defensive position. "Who taught you that spell boy? Thought you'd show up the class with your focus ring, eh?" The coach advanced on the stunned Henry, who seemed incapable of speech, and said, "show me your hand, boy," and when he didn't move, simply grabbed the student's hands, which bore no magical devices of any kind. "The hell," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Henry whined, reverting to his usual responses to angry adults, "I was warned my magic would by messed up with the binding off, and I tried so hard to keep it in. Sorry, so sorry."

The professor in question was momentarily shocked by this outburst, then he spoke, "Don't you know it can harm you to keep that kind of power to build up inside? Spend it on something you already can do, without hurting anyone, this time."

Henry did nothing for a moment, then at the teacher's impatient nod, he relaxed and let his flames out into his hands. Today, he produced what looked like a blue bonfire that wanted to become a pillar of flames. The coach carefully took down his name, dismissed the class and walked back to his office with a slight stagger, noticeable even to his class. They were all late for lunch, and nobody wanted to talk about what happened, though Henry noticed a lot of people whispering to their roommates about what had happened. He resolved to spend their afternoon break in the library, wherever it was, reading about the removal of baby bindings, and even right into the evening if needed. Having the answers to a problem of his had never been so important.

He was the only one who managed to finish eating by the time they had to get to their next class, a lingering result of his not being used to eating as much as he wanted. Herbology was held in yet another courtyard; this one appeared to have taken a large bite out of the surrounding forest, for all that there was a fence going through the tangled mass of vegetation. For this first class, they were treated to a tour of this slice of rain forest, as well as a series of greenhouses, some of which were actually kept cold for northern species. After that, they got a lecture about safe brewing in the potions lab they'd be using.

Henry took notes mechanically, still thinking about the events of the morning; mostly the fact that nearly everyone had been shocked by the amount of magic that he'd been kicking out. That afternoon in the library, a cool and imposing building connected to the rest of the school compound by a covered walkway, Henry struggled to make heads or tails of his own situation. From the looks of it, under even one such constuct, his magic would have faced serious challenges in expression, perhaps only enough to save his life in a severe crisis, let alone the two bindings he'd been subjected to for most of his childhood.

"You are much too young to be in here looking so serious, Mr. Carpenter," said a soft voice near his ear.

Henry looked up and saw Miss Enger, and said, "I can't go and play, since I have to figure this out, or learn how to control it or something."

She sat down on the seat across from him at the table, "and what might be your problem? You've got an awful lot of books here on bindings."

"They found two separate bindings on me during my check up, and have already removed one of these baby bindings, Miss Enger," he replied, running a hand through his already messy hair, "and the way I almost exploded magically today, it's like I'm a freak here too."

"Are you saying that Carter's ranting in the staff room wasn't just his usual exaggeration?" She grinned, then continued, "what exactly do you mean by nearly exploded?"

"Well, I was just shaking with the build-up of power, and I usually have to be way more angry to get half as much, and when I conjured my usual blue flames, they were huge," Henry groaned, "I don't know what to do about it, except that the coach said I'm supposed to let it out, or something."

"First, how else was that different than your accidental magic before losing the binding," she said, leaning forward, curiosity piqued, "and second, are you sure that it was two regular baby bindings, or was one different? What else did the healers say about them?"

"Oh, the accidental magic was just more controlled, really," he said offhandedly, "I'm more concerned about the flames being out of control, since usually they do what I want. Was the coach right about expelling emotional magic, not controlling the build-up? Shouldn't I try to control that kind of power?" The young teacher was staring at him, unresponsive, so he continued, "oh and the bindings, one was a standard baby one, the other was something they couldn't ID, a later construct by a different wizard, associated with the black magic affecting my head, so they were afraid to mess around with it yet."

"Well, it sounds like you are naturally very powerful, aside from whatever the dark nastiness might be. That's what baby bindings are for, otherwise you'd have set off our sensors when you were five, and way too young to be learning magic here. What exactly could you control before?" she finished.

"A line of blue fire around the edge of a small room, light only, not burning mostly. Also, I can clean things just by touching them and unlock doors," he added a bit self-consciously. "I could probably replicate the magic pushing I did today, on purpose this time, also."

"Ok then," she said, trying to suppress her surprise, "all the coach was thinking was venting out the power on something before it builds up too much and really hurts people, but in your case, control might be a better idea, since your power is already at that kind of level."

"How," he said softly, a bleak look on his face, "how do I control it, now? We haven't learned anything magical yet in our classes."

"Did you get a crystal focus for this year? Actually, you should owl-order a set from McGadden's, and carry at least one in your pocket," she explained, "when you get upset, channel your magic into one of them until it glows, but make sure it doesn't start to crack, so it doesn't explode. They store power for rituals or later spell-casting, like if you get magical exhaustion. You can use them later, or if not, they'll eventually lose charge, glowing like nightlights."

"Oh," he said, "okay, thanks, I can do that." Then he waved his hand, magically pushing all of the books on the table over to the return cart before shaking the teacher's hand and leaving. He told her, "I'll just be off now to wherever the school's mail birds are with what's left of my money, then."

Laurel watched him leave, stunned, and resolved to teach at least a few energy consuming rituals to her advanced first years during the year. There was really no telling what this boy at least was capable of, power-wise. For one thing, he'd not be learning a wanded incantation for years that would have the same results he'd just produced so casually. For another, he'd just admitted there was another binding of some kind on his magic, and that he wasn't completely in control of what he could do right now. She'd be thinking about this boy right up to the point that she fell asleep that evening in the middle of working on a lesson plan for his class the next day, actually.

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Far away in a completely different library, a young blond was flipping absently through the pages of a book on magical creatures. Late afternoon sun was slanting in through oval windows, directly onto a man walking through the door, making him blink owlishly. "Daddy, oh good, you must believe me," she said cheerily, "no matter what granny's book says, the lightning-eater lives far further south."

"Now, plum-pie," said the man fondly, "we are going to be searching for them in Canada, and that's final."

"Ok, drat," she replied, her voice becoming dreamy again, "as long as we can go looking for the pacific numbing next summer. I'm just sure that they live in Fiji."

"Only if you do all of your holiday homework, libeling," her father replied, "we could hardly go to such a nasty place if you couldn't break-dance."

The girl nodded absently, beginning to hum in an off-key drone, and pirouetted out of the room and directly into what looked like a living room furnished with bathroom appliances. Walking up to a monstrous stuffed head on the wall, she paused her humming to pat it and say, "don't worry, I still think it's too bad grampa wasn't able to tame you and had to kill you instead, dearest Jabberwalky.' She then spun three times on the spot before collapsing into a bathtub full of embroidered pillows.

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Henry woke up with a gasp, after having a very strange dream, featuring a talking snake in a zoo he'd never been too. It had actually been a very civil conversation, till his cousin barged in, as usual, though the snake had then conveniently escaped and scared the fatty. The snake, a boa constrictor, had then whipped around and looked at him in the eye before declaring, "you have the gift, though it is as yet untouched. Seek the key and set me free, young one." Then it had bit him on the shoulder and the shock had startled him awake. Really, it was a no wonder he could never sleep in, even if allowed to do so. It was hardly the first strange dream he'd had, for all that none had ever been repeated except the one with the flying motorcycle. Although considering the reality of magic, if his parents had been the source of his power, or one of them, who knows which ones were partially recalled baby memories.

That morning, he was grateful for Blake's chatter as they got ready to go to breakfast and then classes. It let him go through things on autopilot, rather than dwelling on such thoughts, and so Henry was surprised to find himself back in the arithmancy classroom. Frankly, he was relieved that this teacher at least wasn't going to act like he was a freak, like his classmates. Such was not the case with Professor Lowell in their next class, who could not seem to stop staring at Henry. It was unnerving.

"Tell me, Mr. Carpenter," the professor said suddenly, "what does it mean when somebody is said to publish a book or essay pseudonymously?"

"It means that the author is using a fake name to protect their privacy, sir," he said sullenly, "Nobody much does it for anything factual, actually."

"Ah yes, of course," replied Lowell, "so I will expect all of you to be using your real names on your homework." The professor's eyes seemed to bore straight into Henry's at this comment, before he went on to explain the differences between an essay written for a history class and the kind of lab report they'd be expected to produce for potions. "Really a completely different style altogether…." He really was an interesting professor to listen to, especially when he got into a little rant like this one, at least in Henry's opinion, despite today's unnerving behavior.

That day at lunch, everyone was very chatty, though there was a distinct divide between Henry and the Crawley boy, who was muttering dire things like, "bloody Carpenter probably had the kind of tutors who use illegal magic-boosting rituals. Even coach was scared. He must be a bloody dark wizard. Did you hear that rubbish he spouted at me?"

"Is it true?" Blake said, "I'm on your side here mate, but what actually happened yesterday?"

"I got a baby binding on my magic taken off at my check-up, so my power's all wonky. I just threw him up against a padded wall, for crying out loud," Henry grumbled, "like he has room to talk, Mr. I had tutors and I bully people. Probably only mad cuz I'm stronger and his tutors wouldn't use whatever ritual he's talking about over there."

"Either way, I'm just glad you stuck up for me," said Sandra McKinnen, the girl Crawley had called fat. Then she continued in a fierce voice, "somebody's got to shut bullies up, I say."

"Who'd a thought little Carpenter had it in him, though," said one of the older boys, possibly the one whose father taught at Ayers, "Ain't you on nutrient potions and everything, little man?"

"Yeah, and usually I'm on the wrong side of bullies," Henry replied, "so I don't feel too bad about overreacting."

Then lunch was over and they were scattered again to their respective classes. History of Magic had given everyone the impression on the first day of being well on its way to being as boring as its mundane counterpart. Henry personally had read quite a bit ahead, and was hoping to catch a bit of a nap to make up for his somewhat restless night and early awakening. The professor was the author after all, so it didn't seem likely that he'd get too far away from the contents of his book. Pretty much everyone else had been talking about how boring history was going to be, so he was not the only student surprised to find their paunchy, salt and pepper haired professor standing on his own desk, sharpening a huge samurai sword.

When they had all arrived, he spoke without looking at them, "what your theory and so-called practical classes will fail to mention is that most offensive spells were originally designed to be cast by swords. Observe. BUSHDAR," he shouted while slashing at the wall, which exploded outward in a line, as though his sword had struck with explosive power. "On the other hand, literally in this case, healing and repair charms tend to be designed for wood foci like the tonga rings. REPARO," he intoned, making a pulling and grasping gesture at the fallen stone rubble with his other hand. "Wands can do both, though as you'll notice in the stories I tell in this class, I wouldn't trust one when it can be so easily burned, broken, or even summoned away. Rather like trusting your magic to a pencil."

The class was spell bound, and probably would never need to consult whatever notes they'd managed to take in-between gasps, as Omagachi started with the most ancient of myths across the world and explained which spells might be used to achieve each effect, demonstrating and teaching the ones at their level. The man obviously had no need to consult his own works or any other books, for that matter, seeming to be extremely familiar with all of the histories and spells mentioned. Their homework for the weekend was to do the same thing for some modern event or story of the paranormal in the mundane world, and write an essay explaining what spells or potions even may have created the phenomenon described, with proper citations, of course. Afterwards, when most of his classmates set off in search of the library, Henry went back to his dorm for a much needed nap.

He actually only woke up in time for dinner because Blake came bursting in to drop off his book bag. Henry himself brought his with him, so as not to waste time getting to the astronomy lesson in the evening. Henry, personally, was more interested in what spells might replicate the effects of the supposed accidental magic he and his class mates had produced before coming to school and getting training, so he planned to spend most of dinner surreptitiously asking whoever hadn't admitted to their magic about what they'd done. "So Anna, what did you do, magically I mean, before coming here," he asked during a lull in conversation.

"Are people still honestly talking about that, or are you just so lame that you couldn't come up with anything better to talk about, Carpenter?"

"I was just wanting to make sure I don't pick some story for the paper that was accidental magic," he replied in a placating tone.

"I blasted a hole in a boy's guts," Anna said suddenly, "and it wasn't an accident, either." Almost everyone scooted their chairs away from her.

"No wonder she never mentioned it before," whispered one of the other girls, "I can't believe you have to sleep in the same room as her, Marie. How creepy is that? All I did was turn my teacher's hair blue."

"I know, you told me," said the aforementioned Marie, "and the janitor's hair purple and most of the boys in the class got pink hair, and yours was a rainbow. But don't worry about me—I was practicing spells from my big brother's books for a year before they sent me the letter."

"Actually, Carpenter, I wouldn't worry too much about the news catching on to our magic too much," said Blake, who was sitting behind him, "they're pretty good at covering up all the evidence of the accidental magic that is caught on their sensors."

"Who covers that stuff up, Blake? Is it the school?" There were actually quite a few kids paying attention to their conversation now.

"No, the enforcers do, duh," piped up Crawley.

"He means the secrecy counsel's enforcing squads," said Blake, "They do a lot of obliviating, like the American Men in Black, but also some cop stuff like aurors in Europe."

"My uncle is one of them, actually," said Marie, "so I'm actually a bit surprised he didn't catch me doing magic sooner. He's a bit of a dumb thug, actually, as much as I like him."

After that, the conversation broke down into a discussion of what kind of things the enforcers or their foreign counterparts had tried to cover up recently. He tried a few times to ask about the other magical professions out there, but nobody seemed to share his interest. He supposed it was only reasonable, after all, as this conversation would probably do them better in terms of getting homework done, and it was their first assignment, after all. As this was their most relaxed meal, it was when mail was delivered, brought in by any number of different birds. Parrots were the most popular; for all that the school used local birds of paradise. The company from which he'd ordered the crystals apparently used trained falcons, as one of them landed in front of Henry with a box in its talons.

"Care package from home, eh, Carpenter? Circe, I love my mom's cookies," muttered Jamison, as he tore open his own box, "or are you getting something more embarrassing?"

"Let's just say I'm not opening this box or any of my future mail at the dinner table," Henry replied, glad for the convenient cover excuse. It was embarrassing that he would never get anything from his supposed family, and he couldn't bear to have anyone asking about the crystals, or taking one and breaking it, not when he'd spent all but the last few wooden nickels of his scholarship on them. At any rate, this was certainly a development worth an extra trip back to his room, despite his previous plans to not do so before class.

As soon as he got back, Henry decided to find out exactly what he'd gotten for his money. There were two levels in the small crate, each containing two rows of indentations lined in black velvet, each cradling a large faceted crystal. Each one had a slightly different shade and cut, though all were basically translucent. The white or clear ones were quartz, and the pinkish and yellowish ones were cubic zirconium. It was after all, the cheapest set the company carried for these purposes. He picked up the most orangey out of the pink stones and put it into his pocket before tucking the crate away under his bed.

Sitting in the astronomy tower later, Henry could only wish that he had the later time slot for the class, rather than his roommate, as they had to sit around being lectured while waiting for it to get dark enough for star gazing. Honestly, it was a fairly useless lecture no matter what professor Watkins said. It sounded like they wouldn't be able to use any of it for actual magic till they knew a lot more arithmancy, for starters. That and the simple fact that they were all too young to be having night classes and actually stay awake, he thought with a yawn.

It was at that moment that the explosions began. Loud bangs and poping sounds accompanying balls of light and firey pinwheels bursting out of the greenery surrounding the school. The students were all on their feet in an instant, leaning over the edge of the tower to watch the show. Somebody had decided that being in school was not going to stop them from having a proper celebration of the new year, Henry thought. Fireworks were being shot into the air from all over the campus, some of them probably magical in nature, as Henry had never before seen animated creatures cavorting about in any such display before this one.

"It's not the Chinese New Year, not yet," announced the professor suddenly. "Perhaps it is Li Mun or something like that? I never paid much attention to the traditions of Indochina…" she trailed off absently.

"No, that's not it," replied a student Henry couldn't quite see, "my family is celebrating the twelfth night of Christmas, or Epiphany. It's a Christian holy day, even if we do have an unusual way of celebrating it."

"You mean your older brother is setting off fireworks, Daniel," responded another, "I bet you told him when you have astronomy, or the show would have started later."

"Well, that hardly matters now," said the teacher, "What does matter is that now I am going to have to stick to a lecture," she paused as the class groaned, "with your practical work, as easy as it is, as a homework assignment. I wish they gave us an extra week before the older kids get back," she added. No matter what she said after that, most of them were totally mesmerized by the ever-changing array of flaming rainbows, Catherine wheels, and gigantic animated fire creatures that filled the sky and scorched the treetops for the next hour.


	4. Games and Groups

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Four: Games and Groups

That night, Henry dreamed of dragons bursting out of stars to burn down a cottage he was living in for some reason. He woke up screaming, his throat already so hoarse his roommate could not even hear his cries enough to be woken by them. Sitting up in bed, Henry began to work on an essay about the movie version of Carrie that his cousin had forced him to watch recently, hoping that it would be good enough for his history class. All through breakfast, he only spoke in monosyllables, struggling not to snap at his classmates, as he was suffering from a pounding headache, probably from the screaming. He hated dreams.

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Half a world away, another dark haired boy was cursing dreams as well, though he knew why his were so terrible. No boy should have to remember his parents being tortured as his first memory. Now the screams still echoed in his head almost nightly. He sat up in his canopied bed clutching his pounding heart, feeling as always, as though band of iron were wrapped around his heart.

"Not that I am much of a faithful John, or anything," the boy muttered, "seeing as I've not got so much as one friend." Reaching over to a small table next to his bed, the boy rang a small bell.

"Master should tell the family about his dreams," said the small greenish being that appeared next to the table as the tinkle of the bell ended. "They are being much too frequent for Master's health, I say."

"The only thing that is affecting my health is my weakness, Sparky," the nine year old responded, "and I will conquer my failings, somehow. If I can't manifest in the arcane fields, at least I can make my body strong."

"Not without sleep, master," the creature cried, wringing its ears with long fingered hands, "as I live and breathe, you is an inch shorter than your father at this age, and wont be able to hide the bags under thy eyes from the family much longer, sir."

"I'll be fine once I can figure out why the dreams are coming so much more frequently," the boy tried to assure his servant for a few more minutes, before requesting his usual warm milk and washcloth.

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Henry slumped into Arithmancy, wishing for the first time in his life that it was the weekend already. He tired to muster up some enthusiasm for the young woman who was fast becoming his favorite teacher, but even she could sense his fatigue. "Now class, said Laurel, "I know you are all overtired from the excitement of last night, but now it is time for the ever-exciting world of Artihmancy."

With a start, Henry realized that he was hardly the only tired one around that day, as many of the other boys groaned audibly as their teacher continued in an unnecessarily perky voice, "I saw the Lenttz display was just as excellent as usual. And since we all know Anthony isn't here yet, any more than the rest of our returning students, perhaps Daniel will kick off this lesson by sharing the formula he used to ensure that his toys went off while he was in class."

Daniel, who never seemed to be called Dan, was just able to get over his usual shyness to sketch out a rough diagram of the pentagram he'd formed around the school grounds out of the fireworks. "I don't know how it works," he added, "I just got it drilled into my head by my brother before I left home last week."

Naturally, their teacher was able to fill in this information, at least in summary as a part of the day's lesson. So once again it was a very interesting and informative class. Their only homework for the weekend was to pick one arithmantic ritual they'd like to do someday and write a page on why they might be interested in the results. Considering that in light of the similar little writing assignment for history, everyone was very happy to get to their writing class.

"Nobody's ever given me any homework before that wasn't a worksheet," one boy wailed as soon as they were in the room, "you have to help us teacher, cuz now we have a bunch of onc pagers."

"By which you mean three, idiot," replied Crawley.

"Now boys, settle down," said the man in question, as he entered the room. Lowell then obligingly went over the basic outline formula for a paper, and promised to help anybody who came in with a paper during certain times over the weekend when he'd be in his office. Henry was just relieved that the teacher wasn't giving him any funny looks this time in class. Later, when history came around, they were all glad to find that they mostly had a free period, while the professor talked to each of them in turn about the topic, to make sure they'd picked something that would work and had a start on finding books in the library. Henry could hear at least one student get told directions to the library by their cheerful professor. When it seemed like almost everyone had taken a turn, he went to talk to Omagachi.

"Sir, what if I pick some kind of accidental magic one of my classmates told me about and explained what spells they might use to replicate the effects in a controlled fashion?"

"I'd say that you were jumping the gun on next week's assignment, little man," he said, clearly amused. "Tell me what exactly you'd use for each one, and we'll see how far ahead you can actually get in this class, if you want."

"Well, I'd probably just do Carrie for the first, as though it were a real event," he said, before rattling off a few possible spells, "even though it seemed more like an unplanned ritual, what with the blood and all. One of my classmates changed a bunch of people's hair into different colors at once, and I thought it would be neat to know how to do that just for fun, that's all."

The professor laughed at that, "thinking of pranks, are we? Go ahead, write both papers now, and I'll cut you some slack whenever the medics get around to dealing with the black magic infesting your forehead,. Does that sound good?"

"Okay, um thanks," Henry replied, somewhat surprised that the teacher was aware of his problem, "but don't be surprised if I only turn in one of them on Monday, sir. I've god another appointment this weekend."

"Good luck, then, Mr. Carpenter," Omagachi said, patting the boy on the back and toward his seat, before saying in louder tones, "now whom do we have left that hasn't come up with an idea to tell me, hmm? Come on down!"

The rest of the class passed in a blur for Henry, as he no longer had any reason to pay attention to what was happening with the teacher. He did work a bit on his paper, despite some distracting thoughts. Mostly, the fact that apparently the entire staff knew about his little problem. Especially because this wizard thought luck might be needed to resolve the situation. Or that he'd be missing parts of days again as a result.

So, now that he'd been wished luck, Henry was completely paranoid about his next check up with the healers and the others who would help examine him. Granted, there wasn't much he could do about it, any more than he could have helped the cosmetic surgeons who had once dealt with a scar on his forehead, besides continuing to take his nutrient potions, but he still worried. On the off chance he might spend the weekend unconscious or otherwise trapped in the hospital wing, Henry decided to spend his first Friday of the school year hastily finishing all of his homework, in hopes of finishing it all early. He completely occupied a table in the library, near the computers for easy access to typing, and almost missed dinner in his single-minded focus, only remembering in time because of the potions that had to be taken with meals. At dinner, it seemed as though almost everyone else had spent the afternoon occupied by a pick-up game of futball. He didn't even care, eating quickly and dashing off again.

The young wizard did not go to bed until all of his papers were done, and slept poorly, dreaming of someone who resembled Jack Skelington from the Nightmare Before Christmas, rising naked out of a cauldron in a graveyard and setting him on fire by looking at him. Henry kept waking up and screaming at this point, then falling back asleep and dreaming the same thing, with some modifications in the details, such as being tied to a grave stone or being held still by a stone angel, or that people in black robes were watching, but every time it was just as horrible. About two hours before breakfast, he decided to not try and sleep anymore, and instead wandered around the grounds, wondering if his life would have been better in another country, or if magic didn't actually exist, as was the dream of his relatives.

For one thing, he had a sneaking suspicion that the Dixons would have found a reason to hate him in any world, and that magic, therefore, could only help him, in any case. At that point, he found that he'd wandered into the aviary, were he stayed and petted the birds for the last half-hour or so before breakfast, which he barely tasted. Time to face the music, as it were. Henry headed off towards the medical wing of the institute.

"Ah, Mr. Carpenter, very good of you to join us, and very prompt as well," one of the same healers from last time met him in the doorway, "let's just get you measured to see how the potions are working for you."

The man waved his wand around the boy like a metal detector wand, before pointing it at the clipboard in his hand and muttering something that sounded like Latin. He then gestured for Henry to sit on the paper-covered bed in one of the little rooms before dashing off to fetch everyone else. Henry had just settled down when he burst back in, saying, "change of plans, my lad. We're not going to worry about scar removal or your eyes just yet—the nutrient potions seem to have jump started your own magical healing processes."

"So what are you going to do to me?" Henry wasn't sure whether to be glad or worried by this.

"Just follow me to the ritual chamber, and we'll be trying an exorcism on you, Mr. Carpenter," the medic said, seeming unnaturally cheery at the prospect, "I've never seen them do a real exorcism before. It should be very interesting."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Henry muttered as he trailed behind the healer, as they went down the hall. "What if it doesn't go well, will it possess me? Do you people even know what it really is?"

The healer did not answer his question, and they soon arrived at the ritual chamber, which was about the size of a half court in a gym, except with a huge pentagram painted on the floor instead of something related to athletic endeavors. The whole group who had worked on him the last time was already there, looking serious. "We just want to see first how you've been doing since the block was removed," said one of the women, "it is important to know that you are in complete control before we can continue."

"I guess I am," he replied, confusion obvious in his voice, "is there something you want me to do or anything to test that? You do mean my magic, right?"

"Yes, of course. Just a simple light spell with any focus you like, though none is best," the same lady said, "incant lumos. You need to focus on how much power you put into the spell—show us the ball of light shrink and grow at your command, okay?"

Henry nodded, then held his hands together like a little cage, and a ball of light appeared between them. He pulled his hands apart and it expanded to fit, till they were as far apart as he could reach, before he drew his hands back together till they touched and the light went out completely after shrinking down. "Is it okay that I didn't say the incant, or anything?"

"No, that's wonderful," one of the men in professorial robes responded, "now we just need you in the center of the seal. Your job is to keep all of your magic inside yourself while we chant to draw the dark thingy out of you. The last thing we want is for you to charge it up with your power, right?"

"Right, then what will you do with it, once it is out?" He grinned when the man held up a rubber ducky and squeaked it.

"The professor is going to try to trap it in the object for study," said the first healer, "and then he'll probably banish it to the dead where it belongs if it ever was a spirit, rather than a curse."

"Do you want me to sit, stand, or lay down?" Henry said after reaching the center of the room, where he felt very small. The adults were all busily arranging themselves around the outside of the pattern on the floor, which seemed to get more complicated every time he looked at it.

"Go ahead and sit, but do try to stay awake in there, lad," said the man who was placing the ducky in a small floating replica of the pentagram, or seal, or whatever they were calling the design on the floor.

Henry sat down Indian style on the hard floor, and began to concentrated on his magic being like that ball of light, only that it had to stay inside his chest. He could feel it pulsing as they began to chant, and then it felt like his head was going to explode from a dark and pounding pain that rose and fell with the tone of their chanting. Suddenly, it felt like the top of his head was being ripped off, and something long and scaly was trying to uncoil from being wrapped around his ball of magic. Henry groaned very softly, and then clamped down on this bit of magic as well, beads of sweat bursting out on his whole face. Then with a pop, the pain was gone, which surprised and relieved Henry so much that he fainted. The last thing he saw as the world seemed to tip sideways was the ducky turning from yellow to black and dropping down from where it floated to bounce off the ground.

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Far away in another large chamber, a similarly dark item lying in a dusty wardrobe let out a long, keening wail, before returning to its usual stillness. It glittered faintly through the aisles of junk surrounding it under the high ceiling. If any could have seen it, they would most likely had a hard time resisting the desire to pick it up and crown themselves with it, dark or not.

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"Hey Carpenter, you Henreee, Carpenter, wake up!" It actually sounded like Blake's voice, which was odd, considering the boy's perspective on the usage of first names. "I saw your eyes open, Carpenter, now lookie, a bunch of use are going over to the Lentz mission for church, since its their big Epiphany Sunday Luncheon bash, and we'll try to stick around for more fireworks." It was definitely Blake, now that Henry's eyes were open, and his roommate was actually bouncing up and down. "Hey, are you in, Carpenter, will they let you out yet?"

"I just woke up, how about you ask a doctor or healer?" He groaned, "I would like to go, providing I can even stand. Right now, I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Oh, he's alright, just knocked himself out with a bit of magical exhaustion," interjected the cheerful healer, "so he's good to go if he feels up to it. I'll have one of the golems fetch him some clean clothes to change into."

"What's magical exhaustion? Just what it sounds like, or something worse?" Henry continued, "but I do want to come along Blake, if you can wait for me to get ready."

"You had it right the first time," the healer said, "it's nothing that won't get better with a good night's sleep, but really has nothing to do with your physical state right now, so you can go anytime, not that you're awake." When Henry nodded, he continued, " now, don't forget your potion box, we refilled it for you already, my lad."

"Can you send it to our room so we can go now?" Blake was very eager to leave, handing Henry clothes to hurry him as he got dressed in a regular school uniform. The healer agreed, after giving him one dose to take at dinner that evening. Honestly, considering the dream he'd had the last time he saw fireworks, Henry wasn't sure how excited he was, even if it would be a fun event. It wasn't as though his relatives had gone to church, or even made him go, so he wasn't all that interested in the rest of the day's events either. At least his homework was all done, he thought while lining up for "floo" powder to get to the mission (just throw in an even scoop and yell Lentz mission when you step in the fire). The end of the line was a large open pit fireplace in one of the courtyards.

Suddenly, it was his turn, and Henry found himself whirling in a cloud of green flames and ash, and feeling more than a little bit too dizzy to be able to run out on the other end, the only way to stay on his feet according to the teacher who'd explained the process. Then it was over, and Henry stepped forward and tripped down the pile of logs that made up one of the bonfires in a jungle clearing, landing heavily on Marie, who had gone before him. After apologizing hastily, he staggered away to look at whatever was roasting on the spits over the other fires. He couldn't quite figure out what it had been, but the smell of roasting meat was delicious in the air, so he decided that it didn't matter. It wasn't as though he'd be able to ask the cooks either, since they all seemed to speak only the local pidgin language. Most everyone else from the school seemed to have latched onto the nearest Lentz and were following them around.

Deciding that was lame, Henry wandered around the compound, trying to avoid going into the jungle, where he was sure he'd get lost immediately. Then he noticed that the whole crowd had disappeared into the largest building, so Henry followed, lingering in the doorway nervously when he realized that this was the church. At least, he thought it must be, since there was a big cross and one of those box-table things churches always had in front. This one was decorated with some drawings and things that looked like a kid made them, which he thought was kind of nice. He was just hoping the program would be in pidgin so he'd have an excuse for not understanding what was going on when an older man got up in front and started to talk.

"Let's all welcome the students who came today," then after a pause for scattered clapping, "now we're going to have this second service in English so you kids can understand—you have to come earlier on a day like this to get all pidgin!"

An older boy who looked just like Daniel had also gotten up and was translating into pidgin for the locals. After that, it was mostly songs, which Henry didn't even try to sing, and some readings about the wise men from the nativity scenes. What startled him was the blood ritual at the end, which had even his depleted magic buzzing, despite the fact that he and more than half of the students hadn't participated. Since nobody else seemed to have noticed the power, Henry decided to ask one of the Lentzes later, and not mention what he felt to his classmates. Perhaps they were used to it, since they'd participated before. When it was over, though, everyone was busy stuffing themselves with all kinds of food, and he forgot. At the end, right before the fireworks, a special cake was brought out, and Henry got one of the pieces with a coin in it, which he kept, since he hadn't seen any money from PNG yet.

These fireworks were even more impressive, which meant that they terrified Henry, especially when a giant flaming version of a moray eel bit him and actually singed his shirt. At that, he closed his eyes and focused on home, which already meant the school, his dorm room, with all of his might. With a pop and a twisting sensation, Henry felt an intense sucking sense of movement. When he realized that he could no longer hear any explosions, Henry cautiously opened his eyes to find himself in the entrance hall where they had all gathered his first day at the institute. It was dark and quiet, at least until a teacher burst in on him, gasping as though he had just been running.

"What are-! Henry, what are you doing here?" It was Lowell, the only teacher who seemed unwilling to call him by his last name, "weren't you on the list of kids going to the Lentz mission? They won't be getting back till eight at least, I heard. Who set off the apparating wards?"

"What's apparating? I don't see anyone else here, but I just popped in a few moments ago when I was thinking about the school," Henry chuckled in what he hoped was a rueful manner, "I was there, but the excitement really tired me out and I couldn't stop thinking about my bed."

"So, crack! And you were just here?" Lowell's tone was quite suspicious.

"No, pop! And I was here," he corrected, "except I didn't want to come to this room or anything."

"Apparating is what it's called when a wizard or witch just pops from one place to another, and the school has wards to prevent people from arriving anywhere but here," Lowell explained in teacher mode, "you must have done so accidentally—you won't learn how to do it for a few more years, at least officially."

"Ok, thanks professor, I'll keep my new skill on the down-low," Henry grinned, "goodnight," then skipped off towards his room.

"As if he'll be able to do it some other time on purpose," the teacher muttered to himself, "I won't be held responsible if he splinches himself all over the place."

Upon reaching his bed that evening, Henry slept easily and deeply, having no dreams, for all that he did wake up at his usual time, bright and early on Monday morning. The school was bustling with older students, who seemed to have all arrived throughout the afternoon the day before, while he and the younger students had been at the Lentz mission. At breakfast, the new students stayed in their usual cluster near the food serving line, but any time an older sibling came by, they would snatch away the younger one to come sit with them, at least this once. Some of them muttered things about parents wanting a report on how their "baby" was doing, or having to look out for them now that bigger kids were around. Most of their conversations were about summer activities, and how lame it was that the institute started so much sooner than regular shcools.

Despite the presence of all the older students, this week went much the same as the first, though with more people in the halls, and a much less tranquil library. Henry even had another episode with the Crawley boy, though this time he simply charged a stone in his pocket, keeping the altercation verbal. There were also a lot of posters staring to go up advertising various extracurricular activities and sports having meetings in the next week or so, or tryouts. Some of them definitely seemed more interesting to others, and Henry decided to compile a list for his own purposes, to help him decide which to try out or visit. It would be nice to finally be able to join a sports team, now that his cousin wasn't around to stop him. He was hoping, of course, that he wouldn't need parental permission forms, since it was a boarding school.

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**Clubs**

Chess

French

Art

Spanish

Latin

X Horse Riding

Russian

Gobstones

German

Video Games

X Fencing

Japanese

Archery

**Sports**

X Quidditch

X Quodpot

X Rugby

X Futbol

Cross Country

Cricket

Track and Field

Rowing

Dancing

X Dueling

X Mixed Martial Arts

**Study Groups**

Arithmancy

Ancient Runes

Defense

Charms

Ritual Magic

Animagery

Aboriginal Languages

Potions

Healing

Botany

Alchemy

Creatures

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All of the study groups and language clubs required that you be in a class of that subject in order to join, so Henry was eager for their next quarter, when they were offered their first foreign language choices. Most of the sports required parental permission, so he crossed them off this list, with an X, along with the horse riding and fencing clubs. At least permission wouldn't be needed once he reached a particular age for some of them, so he could maybe try later. He was only worried now that some of them would require prior experience, instead of simply teaching from the ground up. Otherwise, he'd only be able to go to study groups, and as helpful as they'd be for getting the good grades he'd need to keep his scholarship, Henry knew that people really made friends in sports, and he wanted to be in for once.

The first meeting he went to was the chess club, on Tuesday after dinner. They were a very friendly group, though mostly boys, but he wouldn't be able to join till he had some money again, as their only requirement was that he have a wizard chess set. He went to all of the study groups, especially since some of them had different names than his classes, and he wasn't sure which he could be in. The Arithmancy group got added to his schedule, along with the potions and botany study groups. Most of the others were for higher-level students. He'd actually found that out from one of the older kids in the chess club, and that it was best to just know when the study groups were meeting, so you could go when you did need help. They weren't actually like a club with membership or anything required.


	5. Blood Rituals

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Five: Blood Rituals

Then the weekend was upon them again before there were any more meetings, and Henry had another appointment with the healers. They seemed very pleased with his physical progress and applied some scar healing balm, before the professor who had been in charge of the ritual before sat him down for a serious talk.

"Mr. Carpenter, it seems that this dark magic from your forehead was actually a piece of a soul, almost twisted past recognition as such." He paused and indicated the ducky, which was sitting in a Plexiglas case crawling with glowing runes next to him. "We'd like your permission to study it a bit before we destroy it, as I said last week, before destroying it, especially as there seem to be some connections to it visible under mage sight, possibly to other soul pieces."

"Would you be able to destroy those as well if you studied it, or whatever?" Henry was at his most serious, "and can you promise to completely destroy this thing sometime soon?"

"I'd love to, but we might not be able to safely destroy it for a while, as some of us suspect it still has some affinity for you that will allow you to vanquish it without incurring any of the curses it may invoke."

"Well, if that is the case for the other pieces as well, you should do some work towards finding them, so I can help destroy all of them once I've learned the skills," Henry said firmly.

"Thank you, Mr. Carpenter. You are very wise for you age. Now I think the healers have one more thing to talk to you about before you go," he said before getting up and leaving the boy.

The head healer for the department came in from the doorway where she'd been waiting and said, "we've been getting some interesting reports of your magical powers from administration, since removing the binding, and would like to schedule a time to administer a talent revealing potion, so we can be sure of what skills were being bound, in addition to usual security reasons."

"Why do you have to schedule a special time? Can't we just do it one of these weekends?"

"Well, we do usually need family permission, as some of the old families have some talents they like to keep private. Also, you must be completely free of any other potions in your system."

"So basically it will just have to wait till I'm off the nutrient potions, if ever. My mundane guardians will never sign any papers for me," Henry said bitterly, "though Id' certainly like to know what I can do, as well."

"You mean the Dixon's, correct? The people responsible for you coming here with all those injuries and the malnutrition," the healer's tone was quite flat.

"Well, they are the only family that I know about having."

"You might want to do an inheritance ritual at the bank, if there's any chance that you may have some possible magical family or ancestors. Wouldn't be the first time. At the very least, you should get in contact with some lawyers; try to get yourself emancipated or another guardian. We have more than enough evidence to have you removed form their care, if not persecuted under regular laws for neglect. Think about it, and we'll see you next week," she added in a kinder tone.

Speechless, Henry left the hospital wing and wandered absently towards the library. He had never thought about trying to get away from the Dixons before, or about whether his parents had left him anything, if there even were other possible family members of his out there. It was all a total revelation to the poor boy, more so than the idea of magic, seeing as he'd been using that for years. He sat in the library, doing nothing, till it started to empty.

It was only the newly filled box of potions in front of him that reminded Henry they were going to lunch. After all, even on his best days, hunger had little power to compel him, so used to ignoring such pangs he had become during his childhood. As soon as he had finished hastily eating his food, Henry went back to the library to write his remaining homework, so that he could look for lawyers, as advised. It was rather slow going, at first, since he didn't have a clue where to look, or if there were magical lawyers, or if he had to find some in the regular world who could be contacted from a magical school. Finally, he cracked, and asked a librarian, who was able to help him find some lawyers who specialized in the kind of areas that would be needed to help him, and some tips on how to tell if they were any good, or some kind of scam.

He actually was able to send out a few emails that very evening before turning in for the night, as the school had a bunch of apple computers that could apparently run around magic. Now, according to the helpful librarian, all he could do was wait and pray for some responses when the weekend was over. Upon getting back to his room, Henry found Blake laying out nice clothes, including a tie. It turned out the boy would be going to the Lentz mission every Sunday, since, as he put it, "it is the only church they let us go to here."

"So you really are religious and pray and stuff? I've never really known a Christian before," Henry said.

"Yeah, I just kind of grew up that way, so I'm used to it. You have a problem with that?"

"No, honestly, my relatives kinda hated religion as much as magic, so I figure it can't be that bad," he said with a little laugh, "how do you pray? Does it really help, like magical spells?"

"Well, it's not actually magic, otherwise regular people couldn't do it. But I think it helps somehow. You should come to church if you really want to know more or learn how. I'm not too good at explaining stuff, " Blake seemed slightly defensive.

"Do I have to dress up?"

"I'm the one who's going to look out of place, mate, you saw all the locals there—they mostly were in running shorts."

Henry laughed at that, but did decide not to wear actual wizard robes, just in case they didn't all know about magic there. The service that morning was much the same as the last one Henry had been at, except with less singing, and about half of the count of students had been replaced by older kids, all of whom, like Blake, seemed to know what was going on. He felt even more lost, but Henry waited around till it was over, wanting to talk to somebody in charge about praying. As desperate as he was to stay out from under the Dixon's "care," he just had to give this praying thing a try. But both the pastor and his wife were completely occupied by talking to a group of returning students, so he just stood there, feeling very uncomfortable.

Then, one of them came over to him, a red-headed girl in a skirt. "Hey there little guy, you look a little lost. Anything I can do to help?"

"I wanted to talk to the pastor or whatever about praying, but he's busy," Henry replied, angry at himself for how close to tears he sounded, "I don't know how, and there's something I must pray about."

"Well, maybe I can explain it to you a bit," she held out her hand to shake, "Let me introduce myself—I'm Lauren Lentz, their daughter. I might just know a few things about praying."

She was very nice and cheerful, and Henry could feel himself relaxing as he ended up spilling out the whole story to her, even though she was basically a stranger. She waited till he was all done, then told him about how prayer was talking to God, which meant she had to explain what God was all about, since he'd only heard the word when people were swearing. Lauren didn't seem to think he was stupid for that, which was a relief to the boy. She'd written down a few simple practice prayers for him in his pocket notebook, and offered to pray for him also.

"Should I ask my roommate who goes to church to pray for me too?" Henry sounded concerned.

"Only if you want to, ok? Do you want me to pray with you now, before we both go back to school?"

He agreed, and she said a nice little prayer for him, before flooing back to the institute. With a grin, Henry carefully thought of the entrance area, right next to a fire, and quietly popped there, hoping people would just think he'd gone in the regular fashion, as a result. Nobody looked at him strangely, till the next day in writing class, but then, it wasn't the first time professor Lowell had given him odd looks, so Henry tried to ignore the man's attentions. Of course, ignoring a teacher while in their class is always problematic, and he was barely able to take notes. Everyone laughed at him when the professor asked him to stay after class for a moment. Henry sighed and packed up his notebook and texts anyways while he waited for his classmates to clear out.

"You looked a little spaced out today, Henry," the teacher said, "I saw your trick last nigh. Feeling a little magical exhaustion?"

"I don't like being stared at, sir? Why should I have exhausted myself, anyways? I just popped back to school, not a half a dozen times or across the world," he sighed, "aren't you teachers supposed to be formal and call us by our last names?"

"Ah, yes of course, I just felt that well, perhaps I was wrong," Lowell was suddenly unable to meet the boy's eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, "is that apparition really that easy for you, not a bit draining?"

Henry tried not to shiver at the desperate, almost hungry stare returning to his teacher's face. "Is it that unnatural for me to have that kind of power that makes all you teachers react so oddly to me?"

"Yes, well no, that's not the only reason, wait, other teachers are treating you oddly?" The man was back to stumbling over his words.

"The gym coach still seems afraid of me, except that he pushes me harder than any of the other kids. I guess he's the only one besides you," Henry trailed off, "except Laurel was startled when I mentioned the fire, now that I think of it."

"Laurel who? Oh, so you're on first names with Miss Enger," Lowell sounded jealous or disappointed, "I want to ask about this fire of which you speak, but yes, your power levels are somewhat rare for your age. Those who have been like you, they've gone on to be great or terrible. This school, they bring you in once you reach a certain amount of power. Surely you've noticed how much younger you are?"

"I'm not the youngest this year, sir. One of the girls," he paused, "look, I have to go to my next class, are we done?"

Then Henry slipped out of the room before the teacher could properly dismiss him, or ask about the fire again. What was it that made him want to trust the man, despite his slightly creepy staring? The rest of the day passed in a haze, and that night, he dreamed of a forest clearing, almost a meadow, dotted with flowers. A fox darted out of the trees, and played in the sun with him, yipping and leaping through the leaves, petals landing in its fur. Suddenly, night came in a moment, the sun becoming the moon, and the fox seemed to burst, becoming a wolf, which howled mournfully, ignoring him as the miserable sound continued, echoing in his ears for a long time after he woke up in the brief pre-dawn haze of those tropical climes. Not having any homework yet, and nearing the point of being far enough ahead in class readings to confuse himself, Henry headed for the library, to see if the magical world had anything to say about weird dreams, if anything.

The section of this library on seers did have a lot of books about dream interpretation, but since he'd seen about half of them at Borders and Noble last time he'd gone looking for answers about his strange nocturnal experiences, Henry gave up on that subject. He wandered around randomly, looking to see if any books were on the subject of memory, till he realized they were more like guides for the legal enforcers who had to erase the memories of ordinary people who had the misfortune of seeing some display of magic. He noticed a book on enhanced magical senses, but was an appendix volume to a book on being an animagus. There were probably potions that could mess with minds and how they dreamed, but Henry was pretty sure he hadn't grown up under the influence of any such thing. Libraries had long been a refuge for the boy, but now this one seemed to be unable to help him.

Henry was heading towards the door when he noticed a Latin-English dictionary laying out on a table. They were very popular with the older students, given the language's popularity in European magic. On a whim, he sat and flipped through, pausing to look up a few things. Dreams, visions, magic, prayer, souls, blood, power, Lowell, Reynard—wolf, fox! Somehow, he had known this in his dreams already, but how? He almost made himself late for class, as lost in thought as he was. It was a good thing his classes were so physical on Tuesdays, as the activity kept him focused. They usually spend the whole first period of herbology harvesting some strange plant, while being lectured on its care, before having to go and brew something out of it in the potions half of the class. It was no wonder that most magical folk either chose to purchase potions ingredients, or had horrifying gardens. Far too many of these plants moved for the tastes of a boy who'd grown up caring for a scrupulously normal and tidy garden for his aunt.

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Far away in such a dull and even winter-dead garden, a young girl knelt in nothing more than a white nightgown and saluted a rising moon.

"Dying and rising, day by day, night with sliver of light," she slowly intoned in a sing-song monotone before biting her thumb and letting three drops of blood fall into the dirt below, "blood for blood, life for life. May the deep magic ever flow within and without."

In silence she rose, her hair as wild as the hedges bordering the tiny garden, and slowly walked back into the nearby house. In the faint light of the crescent moon, her blood droplets glistened darkly, before vanishing entirely into the soil.

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With a jerk, Henry hauled himself up and over the chin-up bar. "How many more coach? I'm not too tired, but my palms are getting sweaty."

"Five more boy, God knows you have it in you. And as for the rest of you, be glad I don't give you extra work, unless of course you want to get into my martial arts classes."

"I already know Karate," Crawley bragged, "I should already be in."

"That's twice you've said that, care to prove it? Get over here Fergus!" The coach was summoning one of the returning students who were now assisting him, "let's see how long it takes you to assess his level. Come on over everyone, watching is allowed."

Henry winced at his sarcastic tone before squeezing off five more pull-ups and dropping down. Fergus, which could have been either the boy's first or last name for all they knew, was a slim thirteen year old with the grace of a cat, and now he circled Brian Crawley like one of those predators. The boy in question was unfazed by his opponent's stance, laughing as he almost casually launched a kick at the older boy, who deflected it and every following attack the other attempted. It quickly became obvious to everyone that Fergus was merely toying with Crawley, even before he calmly knocked him down and pinned the younger boy with one foot.

"I'd say he's basically an orange belt who thinks he's working on getting a black already," Fergus said, ignoring the fallen boy's muttering about the color brown. At this point, half the class was snickering at the beaten boy, and it was all Henry could do to avoid joining in and ensuring the other's permanent hatred of him. Crawley, however, glared right at him, seeming to have quite the opposite reaction. Altogether, he was glad the class was over soon after.

The day was turning out to be thoroughly athletic, as Henry would be spending the afternoon going to several meetings for groups of such active natures. The first was archery, out on one of the long stretches of grass between more obviously dedicated athletic fields. While technically a club, the archery association did send senior members to a few tournaments, and was a sporting activity, "requiring physical fitness," according to the club president. However, Henry was quite delighted that this was the only requirement, as members were actually encouraged to not even think about purchasing their own bows till they had more skill and strength. Nest up was running, which would include both cross-country and track and field activities, even though one was usually spring and the other fall. They were holding tryouts, their only real requirement, and would sort out members to each activity after training determined their actual strengths and weaknesses.

There was a lot of good-natured teasing between the boys and girls lined up for the fist timed race, and Henry was surprised that they weren't all first year students. When the gun went off, Henry ran like Big D and his gang were hot on his heels. He was the only one not surprised when he ended up having the best time for every distance they had to run in the tryouts. "Heck," said the coach, a man named Edward Hull, "you've beat some of the school records, unofficially. I can't wait to see you on hurdles, once you're tall enough, little man."

"So I'm on the team?" Henry was having a hard time accepting the fact that he was wanted. "I don't need some permission form signed?"

"No, the school seems to think you rugrats aren't likely to hurt yourselves running. You'd need permission for the fun stuff like javelins and high jump, but we won't start you on those for a few years yet. Put running on your schedule, Carpenter. I will hunt you down and bring you here if you don't show for practices, you got that, boy?"

"Yes, sir, right away," said a beaming Henry, not even minding being called boy for once. It was exciting to have something he was legitimately skilled at recognized, especially for a sport.

That evening, between dinner and astronomy, Henry went to the dance team's recruitment meeting. He had to hide his surprise at seeing that they had the least people there of all the groups he'd yet visited. After all, they were a school sport or competitive group, weren't they? Everyone was milling around, waiting for it to start, and the girls his year were all kind of giving him dirty looks.

"Boys don't like dancing," Marie announced, "you shouldn't be here. Isn't wrestling meeting now or something?"

"Maybe he's gay, or thinks he's a girl or something," said Marie's friend, a girl whose name Henry could never remember, "or he's lost and doesn't want to admit it to us here."

Henry gripped the stone in his pocket, only letting go when he could see a bit of light shining through his pants between his fingers. He would not respond to their taunts. Fortunately, at that moment, the older dancers arrived in the small ballroom. "Oh thank Circe," said one of them, "an actual boy wants to join. I get so sick of having to dance with other girls in practices." Marie and her friend looked shocked at this breathless announcement. The older students were indeed about one third guys, most of whom gave Henry a thumbs up or wink. "Please say you'll keep coming, kid," said the same girl, grabbing his shoulder, "what's your name?"

"Nance, you're going to freak him out," said one of the guys, "hi, I'm Jason. Don't mind her, she means well. We are glad to have you, though."

"Henry Carpenter. I'd love to keep coming, as long as you teach me how to dance, and I don't have to know already."

"Excellent. That's what we're all about, lad," said Jason, "although we won't start the dancing during this meeting, okay?"

Mostly, the first meeting seemed to be about the kinds of competition the dance team attended, as well as what styles they studied, much like the archery meeting. Henry was quite relieved that he hadn't just signed himself up for ballet, as even he had heard about how the men wore tights in that style of dancing. The potential for embarrassment was just too high already when it came to ballroom dancing to even consider that. Later, as he went to bed, after enduring the astronomy teacher's excitement over the waning moon, "we'll all be able to see the stars much better when it is finally dark around here," Henry could think of nothing but the more magical sports, especially since he would not be trying out for any of them yet. He could only imagine what it would be like to fly with the aid of nothing more than a broomstick. To play a sport while doing so was unbelievable, no matter how dull it sounded when the headmaster had prattled on about quidditch on their tour, which already seemed to have been ages long past.

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At that very moment, far away where it was still the middle of the day, a young man with flaming red hair made his most spectacular play in that very sport. Diving at the fastest speed his broom could handle, the young man plunged past a nearly stationary member of the other team, plucking a small golden speck out of the air near the trailing robes of the other, before pulling up for a leisurely victory lap around the oval field, the fluttering bit of gold in his hand held high in his outstretched hand. It was not long before he was dragged down for the cheering members of the crowd to congratulate, and dragged off towards the castle that loomed in the background.

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Henry's dream had been similar to this scene for a while, save that he was the hero, rather than the older redhead. Then, a sudden turn had come in the happy dream, in the form of an intense and biting chill, accompanied by the sounds of anguished screams. He had plummeted towards the ground, powerless to stay on the broom, only to jolt awake just before hitting the ground, as usual in the case of falling dreams, and Henry was relieved by the presence of the pervasive jungle heat of the institute. All the same, his teeth were actually chattering from the chill of his dream, and it was some time before he was willing to leave the dubious shelter of his sheets. What worried him now was an odd silvery-white mist he seemed to have produced in his sleep, even though it had dispelled as soon as he waved a hand through it.

When he got up, Henry added warming charms to his list of magical things to look up during his free time in the library, telling himself it was only because he'd not be used to winter by the time he left this school, given its tropical location. All such thoughts were erased, however, when he checked his new email account and found a response from a lawyer, finally. Horus, Fitzwalter, and Associates would be happy to take on his case, it seemed, having worked with peculiar magical inheritance cases in the past. They also were ready to put him in contact with a number of internationally licensed official guardians who would be suited to dealing with the intricacies of his being schooled in a different country than he'd grown up in, even if her were also technically from yet another country originally.

Frankly, Henry could barely understand even this much from the mass of legalese he'd received. All the same, it did require a reply, so Henry began to type, in a laborious hunt and pick fashion: "Dear Lawyers. I may be precocious, but I am only just nine, and therefore don't quite understand what you are talking about. Your eagerness to help me is nice, but a meeting in person might be more helpful. Sincerely, Henry Carpenter, boy wizard." Then he went back and added something asking about how to arrange such a meeting while he was at school, before sending it and dashing off to breakfast.

"You were at the library again, weren't you?" It was the creepy girl who'd talked about eviscerating some boy before here, supposedly.

"Yes, why do you ask?" He was trying to be polite, despite her rudeness.

"Why do you go there so much? Books hardly have the answers to everything."

"Obviously not, but they have always been less likely to punch me than my cousin. And they don't ask why I'm looking for any particular piece of information, or anything."

"A boy who is opposed to violence and values secrecy. What a novel thought," she sounded sarcastic, but looked utterly interested, "have you been looking at black magic, to curse that cousin you mentioned?"

Henry felt his stomach clench at the odd hungry look in her sparkling eyes. "Only if dreams are in that category."

After that, he refused to say anything else on the topic, no matter how or what she asked. He left the table, food unfinished, the moment the crystal in his pocket was almost overloaded. He had filled over half of them with magic already, and was beginning to wonder if there was some other way to deal with anger. Didn't his uncle always make fun of Budhists for their nonviolence and meditation? He would have to add that and anger management to his list, since anything his uncle derided was probably valuable. What worried him was that he was even getting this mad so often. One would think that losing the dark magic on his head, the tainted soul, would make him feel lighter, as well as getting away from the Dixons. Instead, he seemed to have ignited his temper, as though it was always at a low burn, requiring little to set him off.

He was still thinking about it later in Arithmancy, and when it was over, he stayed behind, wanting to consult with Miss Enger about how to empty his supply of crystals. "What do you mean, you'll fill all of your crystals soon?" The young teacher seemed surprised.

"Can I just come in sometime later to talk if this will take a while? I mean of my question requires more clarification," Henry said, trying to be polite, but unable to keep himself from glancing worriedly at the clock.

"I mean if you've only nearly filled one of them, you just move on to the next," she said, "you did ask me—I'm not exactly making you stay late or anything."

"Oh, I've been doing that. I have a dozen of them, and I've got the ninth one in my pocket now. Plus I'm always scared I will overload them," he said, sounding desperate.

"Fine, I'll give you an official appointment during my free period at four, if you want," she said in a calming voice, "it sounds like your questions will take up more time than we have right now, no matter what I have to say."

"Okay, thanks, you're the best," he blurted out in a rush before darting out the door.

Laurel sat down heavily. It seemed as though there was no end to the surprises from the Carpenter boy. While waiting for her next class to filter in, she decided to prepare a bit for what could be a very strange meeting in just a few hours by finding those power consuming rituals she'd been thinking about when she first gave the boy advice on his strange problem. Then her next class came thundering in, and she had to put him out of her mind again until it was time to meet him in her office. When she got there, Henry was already there, pacing in front of her door, his book bag sitting on the foot of the stairs she had just come down.


	6. Legalities

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Six: Legalities

"I was afraid you'd forgotten, or only said that to make me go away," he said with unusual honesty, and then with relief, "but you came!"

"Yes, and with all of my curiosity, too. How long does it usually take to fill one of your crystals," she asked as they went through the door, "and may I see what kind you ended up getting?"

"Here you go," he said, handing her the golf ball sized quartz in his pocket, "I had to get the cheapest kind. They fill up so fast, I usually have to get away from whatever is making me mad after they start glowing through my pocket. I guess they can handle maybe a ten minute surge at most."

"And none of the ones you filled before have lost their charges yet?" She looked at the stone he'd given her. A cheap piece like this could often be hard to charge properly, and usually leaked power like a sieve.

"No, they all still glow brightly, and even the first one is only a little bit more dim. My temper just seems to be out of control lately."

"Do you feel dizzy or anything after you load one up, ever? I don't think you should be forcing the energy into the stone when you are mad—just sort of let the excess drain into it, ok?"

"I don't mean to force it, but my power just wants to blast whoever I'm mad at, so I have to fight to get it to go into the crystals," he said, alarmed, "is that really bad for me or something?"

"It would only be a problem if you were forcing the magic out of you, not just forcing it into the crystal. These cheap ones don't just automatically drain power, so the push you're dealing with is normal. You've yet to try using the power in them yet, right?"

"Well, yeah, I know they're for backup or something, but I don't know a lot of spells yet, or how to use these for that, and I'm scared I'd blow a hole in the wall doing it wrong."

"Probably a good call, knowing you. Now I've been looking for a few simple rituals that use these power stones, but we'd have to book a time in one of the ritual rooms. For now, I think I should try to show you how to draw on the power in your crystals just a bit."

"But I only brought this empty one, should I go get some others?"

"No, it's better to start small. Concentrate on letting just a little bit of power flow into this crystal, and then we can try pulling it right back out by doing some simple spells, ok?"

Henry sighed and cupped the stone in his palm and pushed some of the static he'd built up in his earlier frustrated pacing into it. "Ok, stop, that's more than enough," his young teacher burst out suddenly. The crystal now had a faint white spark inside it. "Give it here, and I'll demonstrate, now that we have plenty of magic to work with. Basically, you are using this as your focus, instead of your ring or wand, except that you just push with the stone's energy, and keep yours inside you. This would obviously require no effort if you had magically exhausted yourself, which is when people generally use these." With that, she cast a levitation charm on a chair and spun it around. The glow in the crystal was barely dimmed. "Just do something you are comfortable with that is simple, and unlikely to wreck my office if you overpower it by using your own magic as well."

Henry took it from her and concentrated on the gale charm, which was not simple, but he'd been dying to try since he'd written about it for history. He told himself very firmly that no magic could get through his skin, already knowing that intent was crucial for this kind of thing, and blew very softly on the glow in the stone, mentally telling it to blow out, too. Suddenly, there was an odd whistling sound, and the light seemed to flow out and up into a miniature twister on top of the stone, which whipped his hair back and forth with the force of its wind. Then the crystal was dark again, and the wind disappeared as fast as it came. "Sorry it wasn't simple," Henry whispered, cringing slightly.

"Yeah, I wouldn't suggest doing that with a fully charged stone, but no harm done now," she said, "now, are you certain that none of your internal magic went into that display?"

"Only a spark of my will when I blew, to get it started," he said with some certainty, "is there thing I can read about those rituals, or can you tell me what would be safe with a fully charged stone?"

"Honestly, I'd have to see how much power you usually put in before you stop, but you can borrow this book. I think you ought to talk to professor Blakeney, who is our head ritualist, about how and what rituals you may be interested in. He might even help you do some."

"Oh, right, and he was the one who took off my blocks. I guess I should have talked to him from the start. Thanks professor. I'll get your book back to you next class, and show you a charged crystal then, ok?"

After that, she let him go to whatever he had next, and leaned back in her chair, a foot propped on a desk drawer. If she didn't know any better, she'd think this kid had been doing magic for years. There was no way he'd cast the gale charm silently, even if his comment had indicated it wasn't accidental magic. It had to have been a result of him breathing while focusing on releasing the stone's power. She'd learned that charm when she was fourteen, and could still remember the effort it took to hold the wind in tornado form, no matter the size, in terms of willpower. Added to the fact Henry had to have been bleeding power to put so much of a charge into the crystal without even appearing to have tried to do so, and he was likely to be legendary. If he didn't watch it, he'd be known mostly for his temper, she thought, for all that he was a pretty controlled and calm boy usually. Either way, his power levels were going to start breaking records soon, and not just here.

Henry whistled as best he could as he skipped down the hallway, happy to have found a possible solution that he could pursue, especially considering that he had met the man. Of course, they had been focused on removing the dark thingy from him, but he hoped the professor would be interested in talking to him about rituals, especially since he'd indicated that they would have to work together more to deal with the object and whatever else was associated with it. Not having a class, he went back to his room to spend some quality time reading Miss Enger's book, before he remembered that he had a meeting to go to now. This time, it was a beginners choir and chanting group that met weekly, and was actually a prerequisite for ritual magic, given how many of them required chanting—properly done.

It actually didn't get over till right before dinner, and most of the boys were pretty mad. "I cant' believe we'll all have to take this again after our voices break," said Daniel, "I already know how to sing, anyway, and do they really think we won't remember how to do it, just because our voices change? It's still the same techniques we'll be using!"

"I don't understand why it won't count if we get into a higher level choir or performance group later," chimed in another, "they're just penalizing our whole gender. They should just be glad we want to sing, instead of making it so we can't get into ritual magic till a year or so after the girls!"

"The shoe feels bad when it's on the other foot, doesn't it," said one of the girls.

"Honestly, I still can't see how they make such a big deal over singing," one of the upperclassman guys added, "I swear, it's the slowest form of magic. Not much good in the dueling circuits, I can tell you that. One good tongue-tying curse and you can't do it anyways! If I were one of you little guys, I'd suggest doing like me, and just wait till your voices settle down before taking this the first time."

"Are rituals worth the effort for anything at all? Also, can singing be used for magic other than rituals?" That was Henry, curious as ever, and mind stuck on rituals lately.

"Bout the only permanent magic," one of the other older boys said, "change your body, up your power levels, hide things permanently, summon angels and demons, actually most of the scary magic illegal in a lot of other countries are various ritual-based magical processes."

"So why do they teach rituals here? I mean if they are illegal in so many places," Henry asked.

"Rich people from those places will always pay a lot to have that kind of thing done for them. Somebody has to be able to do it properly. My scholarship is paid for by foreigners coming to the school for assistance with rituals," the same older student explained.

It was probably the most interesting and informative casual conversation Henry had ever had. The next morning, when he was perusing the borrowed book, it did not surprise him that almost all of the sections began with a note on which countries had banned each ritual. This pacific rim area that he lived in was just about the only place with a stable government that only banned rituals requiring human sacrifice, none of which appeared in this book, obviously. Henry decided to just wait to ask the ritual professor about which ones he could do after his appointment on Saturday, or during if he saw him there again. Sunday afternoon he was going to meet up with one of the lawyers, since visitors were only allowed on weekends. Apparently, some parents could afford regular visits to their kids, though most didn't use this option, as it was discouraged to prevent homesickness.

That Friday afternoon, almost everyone in the school came out to watch the quidditch tryouts, and Henry was dragged along by Blake, who was insistent on everyone being introduced to the sport. Nothing could have excited him more than indoctrinating those who had never heard of his favorite sport before coming to the school, and therefore rounded up most of the reluctant new students. They all dutifully trooped down to Merlin Field. Apparently, these were the tryouts for the school team, open only to players from the intramural teams that had an in-school tourney. Next week, probably everybody who didn't make it would be back playing on those teams, and helping them recruit new players. All around, in the impressive stands, Henry could hear snippets of sports talk from older kids.

"Now, Horton from the Blue Macaws is probably a shoe-in for chaser, to replace the graduated Stormbringer," said a tall spotty boy.

"Yes, but the Black Mambas chaser trio has the best coordination, so they might be brought in as a group," replied the girl sitting next to him.

"Well, I suppose, but probably only as a second-string or substitute option, as they're quite a bit younger," the boy argued back.

Further down, he could hear a few boys arguing about seekers from the Roaring Devils and Lightning Lewis Brigade. Henry was honestly far more interested in the weird team names than players or positions, having no clue how the game was played. He had a feeling quodpot was a bit like futbal, but worried that the wizarding world's favorite sport might be a bit more complicated like his uncle's beloved cricket. For all he knew, wizards had invented something even more mad, with multiple balls or something. He added magical sports and games to his research list, knowing how popular sports were with his peers, especially the boys. Then, the proceedings began with a half-game, only pitting prospective keepers against teams of chasers. Henry was blown away by the sheer display of aerial acrobatics and sleight of hand as the trios faced off over one red ball in mid-air.

After a while, he noticed that they were switching out players after each goal, cycling through all of the hopefuls a few times. Later, the beater tryouts, mostly featuring boys, was an astonishing display of raw power, involving targets and obstacles. By the end, the seeker trials were quite dull, mostly having a horde of kids, all mostly small for their ages, going after golf balls shot out of random locations. Everyone else seemed to think this was the best position, probably because of the disproportionate number of points these players could score. He could hear kids cheering on their friends, shouting out things about really good moves, all of which had pretty goofy names. Quietly, Henry slipped off to dinner, which had started at about the same time as the seeker trials.

About the only people at dinner already were girls, so Henry sat alone on one of the stone walls around the trees, and wondered when they'd get a chance to learn basic flying. It looked like flying a broom would be a lot of fun, sports or not. After all, for him, the only good dreams he had were about flying, and occurred almost weekly, even now. Suddenly, he remembered that his most recent one had actually featured what quidditch might have looked like when all of the balls and positions were in play at once. The niggling thought that his dreams might have some truth to them somehow led Henry back to the library once again, this time to the sports section, where he deduced from moving pictures that indeed, his suspicion about the dream was correct, at least in terms of what game was being played. It was rather a bit alarming then, when he had another flying dream that night.

This time, he was on a broom engraved with his name on the handle, instead of a company or model name, and he was being chased through a forest by flying black horses, dodging branches and trunks frantically, knowing somehow that the skeletal creatures were eaters of flesh. Still, upon waking, his usual exuberance after such a dream remained, and Henry went about his morning routine grinning like a loon. Flying at night had long been his one comfort in life, along with the ability to outrun his cousin, though it was likely to soon be as unnecessary, should he start to fly in real life. He walked down to the medical wing in a daze of happiness, unworried about the impending appointment. This time, they were quite pleased with his progress, and he was hopeful that the potion regimen would end soon. Also, even though his vision wasn't yet perfect, it was declared good enough that he wasn't going to get fit for glasses any time soon, though he might still have a tendency towards nearsightedness and need them later on in life.

So Henry left in the same rejoicing mood. They had also wanted to schedule his skill/talent test for two weeks from now, unless something changed. In fact, he was able to make it to lunch, a first on a Saturday since coming to the institute. After eating, he headed off to the teacher's office hallway, near the entrance, in hopes of finding the ritual guy. In his pockets were two of his crystals, one charged with magic, the other completely empty. When he got there, the professor was talking to another student, so he sat down on the floor across the hall to wait. They were having some kind of argument about power levels and prerequisites for a class the kid wanted to take, if the occasional shouts he heard through the partially open door were any indication of what was going on inside. Then the boy came stomping out, followed by Blackmore, or whatever his name was, the head ritualist.

"Hello there, Mr. Carpenter. I wasn't expecting to see you so soon," he said, "considering the talk we had at our last meeting. Do come in, and tell me what has brought you here."

Henry followed him in and sat in a large leather chair facing the professor's desk, and pulled out the stones in his pocket. "I have a dozen of these, purchased on a teacher's recommendation, and I already charged ten of them with temper magic or whatever, since they arrived the second week of classes. Now she suggests I do something like the efficiency ritual, or something else from this book she lent me," he finished, pulling it out from his book bag.

"I presume you are referring to our own Laurel—I gave her that book as a present some years ago," the older man said, smiling at Henry's nod, "good girl, but right to refer you to me, given her specialties. I'll expect to see her micro potions on the market soon, even if she is doing well teaching arithmancy."

"Erm, right, but what can I do? Is there something you can help me with? Is something wrong with me," Henry cried, anxiously, "from the soul thing's influence on me or the binding?"

"What exactly are you talking about, young man?"

"I mean that everyone is freaked by my amounts of magic, since then, and my temper's all off kilter, and well, that's all I guess."

"Hmm, I wouldn't be so worried about it, if I were you. The nutrient potions alone are giving you a bit of a growth spurt, and that is bound to affect emotions, you know. You're in a new place, and undoubtedly that makes you a bit more jumpy than usual, so your magic is reacting, perhaps a bit more than necessary since it is used to being blocked. I have no doubts you'll settle down in no time."

"Probably just in time for me to really need excess magic, knowing my luck," said Henry, though he was very relieved.

"Now, did you bring all of the crystals, or only these two?" Henry pulled out the crate, and Blackmore nodded, "very good. How soon can you have the other two charged? It would be best to do any rituals on a weekend."

"I know I could fill one of them now, maybe both, if you want," he said, "as I think it's likely I'll need more than two before next weekend. Do you want me to try right now?"

"Yes, actually, it would be a good gauge of your current power levels, if nothing else," said Blackmore.

Henry nodded, and took the two empty stones, one in each hand. Focusing on his magic as some kind of well of power within, he willed it to flow up and out into the crystals, which he thought of as buckets. As soon as he could see light through his eyelids, he stopped, and opened them. Swaying slightly with a bit of dizziness, this time, Henry sat them down in the open case. "Well, now I'm really feeling a magical drain. Can I have some time to recover?"

"By all means, lad, sit back for as long as you need. I have to make sure they all have equal charges, anyways. I'll just go ahead and top them off for you as necessary," he replied in a soothing voice, possibly the first person to not act as though Henry had some kind of abnormal ability after seeing him perform. "Good. You have an instinctive knack for the natural resonances. They are all maintaining at almost the same level. Low leakage for such cheap pieces. As soon as you are recovered enough, we'll see if there is a ritual room free."

After that, they sat in silence for several long minutes, the boy in a light doze, the man looking at him with a cool speculative gaze. Taking out a small notebook, he wrote down a few things in some odd symbols, before turning his attention back to the slightly glowing contents of the small crate in front of him. The ticking of a small clock in the corner was the loudest sound in the room, until Henry slowly sat upright again. "Thanks, I feel a whole lot better now. I mean, not a hundred percent, but much more functional. I could even be good for a bit of magic now, I think." Then he gathered up his things and followed Blackmore along the hall and down a flight of stairs. They ended up in a low, windowless corridor, which smelled slightly of wet dirt and basement air, where the professor checked a schedule sheet taped to the wall before leading Henry towards one of the chambers.

"You mentioned an interest in the efficiency ritual. Why, pray tell, is that?" The professor said when they arrived.

"Well, I don't exactly sleep a whole lot anyways, due to peculiar dreams. I know it isn't good for me, but I was hoping that if the ritual made it so I didn't need as much, I could keep my health."

"Not nightmares all the time, I hope?" Blackmore looked rather relieved when Henry disagreed.

"Only some of them are less pleasant than others, I guess. Not too bad a price for loads of flying dreams, right? Mostly they are just weird, like I know things in my dreams that I didn't in real life."

"If you are sure, Mr. Carpenter. Now, consider me an observer, helpful, but mostly here to watch. I have no problem with the ritual you've picked, so go ahead and set up for the ritual according to the book. Supplies other than your crystals should be in cupboards on the near wall. I will be happy to correct your mistakes and give a few pointers, ok?"

Nodding, Henry took pegs and string and set up a six-pointed star, made out of overlapping triangles inside the circle permanently marked on the floor, then chalked along the lines before removing the strings. Upon seeing Blackmore's nod, he placed the crystals on each of the points and intersections, flat sides down. The six quartz were on the inside and cubic zirconium on the points, till the rutualist told him to switch them. Using a compass to guide him, Henry sat down in the center, facing east, with the book open in his lap.

"Can I read the chant, or do I have to memorize it? What if I don't know how to sing yet, does it matter?"

"You can keep the book there. Usually, your results are only going to be as good as your drawing and chanting, but in this case, it is mostly based on the stored power you bring, which leaves a little more room for error at this level. For now, just concentrate on putting a thread of magic into your voice and words as you read at a steady pace. Pause at the end of lines and try for a monotone."

Nodding, Henry began to read the italicized and metrical lines indicated there:

"_I rise with the dawn, and look to the sun_

_I rise with the moon, and look to the night_

_I lack the strength to do both at once_

_I long to face the nigh that follows the day_

_I call my power to flow cleanly into my body_

_I wish to banish the sleepiness from my eyes_

_I call the power of the dawn into my bones_

_I swallow the moon with my magic. NOW!"_

Henry ended with a raised voice as the book demanded, and had to hold back from gasping, as the light flowed out of the stones and into the lines, and then seemed to flow inward, before bursting into him. It felt like fire in his nerves, burning through him till his brain seemed to throb, and he passed out. After a while, he began to slowly open his eyes, and complained, "why do rituals always seem to end with me flat on my back?" He noticed then that all of the chalk lines he'd laid down had vanished in the completion of the ritual. The older man only laughed at him, as he pulled himself up and crawled around, gathering his depleted crystals from the floor around him, wincing as his nerves still felt raw.

"As long as you do rituals meant to affect you, that's how they are likely to end, as the magic works on your body. Send me a note when you figure out how much sleep you need now; I'd like a number. As it wouldn't be wise to do this ritual again, I'll be expecting a visit next time you've filled your stones, lad, unless Laurel wants to borrow them for your class or something. They have that book in the library, so you should go return it to her now."

Henry made his farewells, and left the book in a box on her doorway on his way to dinner, which was already half over. For a moment, he wondered how long he'd been knocked out, but supposed he'd never know, as Blackmore hadn't mentioned it. At least nobody seemed to wonder where he'd been, given that his Saturday healer visits, and their length, had already kind of become routine parts of his life. Feeling rather odd, Henry just let the conversation flow around him, especially since all of his yearmates were discussing a movie they'd spent the afternoon watching in the lounge at the end of the hall in their dorm. Mostly, they were arguing over whether the special effects team had used magic in addition to ordinary tricks, though they'd probably never know the answer.

"I swear, there is no way they could have done those flying effects without a broom," Crawley shouted, spraying food in his enthusiasm, "I'd love to be that stunt guy, it would be easy!"

"Editing out a harness wouldn't be much harder than editing out a broom," said Marie, "and his position was all wrong for flying a broom, you idiot. Now, the fake injuries could have been real and then healed with magic quite easily. They were quite realistic, actually."

"And how would you know, creeper?" Nobody wanted to answer Crawley's question, as it was probably more than a bit rhetorical.

"Look, why are we even arguing about this," Blake muttered, "companies usually don't even let the magical world know if they use magic for effects."

"Except for Industrial Light and Magic, obviously. I don't know how they got that name past the secrecy act."

"You're kidding right? Surely they'd be the least likely to actually use magic, what with secrecy and all?" Henry just had to join in, he was so astonished by this revelation.

"Oh, George Lucas is a regular silvertongue. Got it past on the ol' hiding in plain sight defense. Lots of money had to change hands, also. He is one rich wizard, you know."

At that moment, conversation was cut off by the arrival of mail, which was surprising to Henry, as he got a note reminding him of the meeting with the lawyer, from the school no less, indicating which room had been reserved for the meeting. As it wasn't till Sunday afternoon, Henry decided to go to the mission again in the morning, if only to keep him occupied till then. To his surprise, this time the service was almost the same as last week's, except with some different readings and songs. Perhaps it wouldn't take very long for him to start being able to keep up with what was going on at these gatherings. All too soon, however, it finished, and he was back at school, sitting in a small room, wondering how the meeting would go, and if he should have taken the time to brush his teeth after lunch.

He was just trying to remember Blake's tooth-cleaning charm when a very tan woman in a skirt suit came in. Henry stood up with a jerk, and muttered something that he hoped sounded like "Hello."

"Mr. Carpenter, I am Opal Llewelyn, as promised, legal secretary from Horus, Fitzwalter, and Associates, here to discuss your situation. Shall we sit?" They did, and she opened her briefcase, pulled out a legal pad and a quill pen, which hovered over the page. "This will merely transcribe whatever we say from here on," she said, turning it so he could read her words at the top of the page. "Now, I believe our main problem here is a matter of your guardianship, is it not?"

"I promised my guardians that they would not need to deal with me ever again, so long as they allowed my attendance at this school. However, I seem to need guardian permission for a number of things here."

"You also made reference to some kind of abuse or neglect at their hands in the past," she added in a questioning tone, "care to elaborate?"

"Honestly, that's mostly coming from the healers who have evidence. All I can say is that my bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs, so that I would be handy, like other cleaning tools. Basically they didn't treat me the way they did their own son. I've been cooking for them since I could reach across the stove while standing on a chair, so at least before I first went to school."

To her credit, the legal secretary restrained her reaction to expression only. "I will be sure to find out when would be a good time to collect information from the healers. Rest assured that we will be sending investigators to your relative's house back in Australia."

"Who will be in charge of me if not them?"

"That will be a matter for which we may have to consult with any will your parents may have created," she replied, "though the courts will likely appoint somebody as a temporary legal guardian until a permanent answer may be obtained."

"What if there is no will? I really don't know anything about my parents, I mean I never even heard their names."

"Fortunately, in this case, as long as you live at school, foster parents won't be needed, so you would probably be retained by the state guardian as a ward. We'll actually need to talk to the school about taking you off campus to go to the bank and perform an inheritance ritual, to find any pertinent wills, as you don't know the identity of your parents."

"What if I was kidnapped, I mean, and they are still alive?"

"Much will depend on what, if any, living relatives you have, as revealed by the inheritance ritual," she said, with irritating vagueness.

"When will we go and do that, if it is so important?"

"After collecting evidence from the healers and the house you lived in before coming to the school."

"Why are you being so helpful, I mean, to already have all this in mind? It's not like I'm paying you yet. None of the other lawyers have even responded to my email with a negative."

"For one thing, we are a big firm, operating across both international and the magic/mundane divides. Some of the other places listed on the address line of your query simply can't handle your case. If you'd approached law enforcement, they probably would have recommended us to you. We tend to make our money from court settlements, as well."

"I hadn't even thought of money," Henry gasped, "what if I can't pay you that way, or something, I mean, hey scholarships here? You'll never let that go, I could be screwed, like a moggage or whatever my uncle has."

She did her best to calm him down, and explain government support and how lawyers could be paid by winning cases. "But I still have to sign some paperwork, so that I'm your client, right?" Henry burst out, "otherwise you won't be able to help me. I hope I won't regret this. And I still need permission to take those talent-testing potions for the school! Nothing will ever get done!"

"Actually, as a minor, technically you can't sign any such legal documents, any more than you can fill out your own permission forms. Technically, we are a legal consultant the school allowed you to contact for guidance as they work out how to file an international investigation on signs of abuse they discovered on your person," she explained. "This institute has a history of believing pretty strongly in student independence, hence allowing us to meet alone, and keeping you up to date with the proceedings on your case, so unofficially, you are a client." She smiled brightly at him, " so, feel welcome to call us your lawyers."


	7. Words

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Seven: Words

That night, it took Henry an unusually long time to fall asleep, as he kept waking up, sure he'd had a nightmare, only to be able to remember nothing of the kind. Fortunately, Monday morning, he didn't feel any particular listlessness from that, which was good, as Lowell's class was introducing the first set of runes they'd be learning at this school. He'd decided to start them on Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, which he said was due to their picture based nature, on the hopes that it would get them into the habit of recognizing and interpreting runes. That, and because there was no spoken Egyptian remaining in spoken form, so they wouldn't have to learn pronunciation.

"Now, as a starting exercise, just to help us get a feel for how hieroglyphs work and were invented," the professor said after his little intro to the topic, "I want each of you to write a note to a friend without using any letters or numbers. Nothing private, or for a particular person, as I'll be collecting them in ten minutes and enlarging them so we can all try and figure out what you were trying to say in your notes."

Everyone thought this was great fun, and there was a lot of giggling and whispering, as kids took out spare pieces of paper and started to doodle on them. Henry didn't know what to do for a while, before smiling slowly. He drew a sun, then a few kneeling stick figures, then a dagger, then a heart, then a pyramid, then a fire, then a falling man, then a small sailboat, then a cross, then a few men with swords, followed by a lot of people laying on the ground, then chains, then more people, a money sign, a gun, a flag, and a stick figure with a chain standing on a man laying on the ground. He did this very quickly, with almost no pausing. Henry would have done more, but the teacher called time and collected them. Most of his classmates had drawn stick figures doing things, and hearts and arrows along with poorly disguised letters and numbers. It was kind of fun when his finally came up, seeing what everyone thought of his little sequence of events.

"It's obvious whoever did this was some kind of sociopath," said Crawley, "there are way too many people dying for a simple note, otherwise."

"Which only means it isn't a note, idiot," said Marie, "but some kind of story, with people fighting."

"Let's just look at in order, like all the others, shall we," said the prof, "what could each symbol mean, if it were a story, ok?"

"Sun, kneeling, knife, heart, triangle, flame, falling, boats, cross, knights, sleepover, chain people, money, gun, flag stomping," Maria's friend rattled off immediately in a monotone. "Don't ask me what it means, you guys are the ones who think it is a story."

A bunch of people chimed in at the same time with stories, some lifted right out of action movies. "Alright," Lowell said when they fell quiet, "would the note writer like to tell us how wrong or right we are?"

"Sure," Henry said, trying to ignore Crawley muttering about him, "it's what I remember of the history of the Americas from a TV program. Sun worshiping Aztec's cut people's hearts out and burned them on their pyramids, then threw the bodies down. Columbus had three ships, then Catholics came to convert with conquistadors with swords or something, and lots of people died. They brought in slaves to work for them, then there were bloody revolutions in South America, and they became countries and banned slavery."

Everyone stared at him, including the professor, who struggled to continue after that speech. "Well, thank you Mr. Carpenter. I imagine your friends hope you don't always pass notes like that. Let's um, look at the next note, shall we?" Fumbling, he pulled one out, and muttered, "oh look, I can see flowers already."

When class was over, Henry slipped out as fast as he could, worried his teacher might try to talk to him after class. So he'd confused note to a friend with notes from a pretend class, on mistake. The in-class project had taken so long, they'd only really gotten a hand out covering what the hieroglyphs were, with a few pictures of ancient markings on walls and monuments. Henry was already vaguely familiar with what they looked like, having spent a very lovely afternoon in the library once, reading all about ancient Egypt, especially its gods and architecture. Now he wondered if any of the myths about their curses had been real, and added the culture to his study list, before remembering that they would likely cover this topic in history, his next class, eventually, at least.

Apparently, Omagachi had found out what his fellow teachers were working on, so they did talk a bit about Egypt, and some of the modern curse breaking work being done there. He ended by assigning them to find one hieroglyphics-based curse and write about how the meaning of the symbols related to its function. Some of the others in the class were still groaning about having a paper on a weekday when he left lunch early to got to Merlin's field for archery. Like everyone else there, he was looking forward to getting to shoot things, but it turned out that the whole first meeting was mostly about safety rules and how to pick a bow with the right weight. People were pretty inattentive, until one of the senior students shot an arrow that punched halfway through a heavy wooden door standing nearby. Suddenly, nobody wanted to risk being in the path of a stray arrow.

The older students then demonstrated both the western and eastern shooting styles, since they would learn both, and revealed that in a rare occurrence of club cooperation, the school had just started a time for kids who'd learned both archery and horse riding would get to try horseback archery, in the style of Genghis Khan, Attila, and all of the Huns in general. Then they offered to answer questions. At first, these were mostly about when meetings would be, and purchasing equipment. Then a snotty looking older kid who was new to archery, despite not being in Henry's class spoke up.

"What good is knowing any of this non-magical stuff, anyway?" He sneered, "especially something so outdated as archery. Even the mundanes haven't used bows in centuries for warfare."

"I'm surprised you need to ask us that, Jamison," replied the girl who'd shot the arrow through the door, "I mean, you've been here at the institute as long as me, and came out here to learn for a reason. Why don't you tell us?"

"Don't get so huffy, Mel," another older kid chided, "Jamison, was it? Look, how many spells do you know that have a five hundred yard range, without being slow rituals or wide-area effects?"

"Well, just cuz I don't know any doesn't mean there aren't any. Wouldn't a good sniper rifle be better, anyway?" Jamison crossed his arms.

"How about magical areas that scramble advanced machinery, like a magical creature preserve. I mean, the school is built on one, you should know."

"I'd do what the handlers do—get closer using concealment magic, or something, and use a spell, or ward the gun against magic," Jamison retorted, "I'm only here cuz I can't join the gun club without basic marksmanship from an archery section."

"How many creatures are magic resistant," insisted Mel, "or can sense magical disguises or other magical beings, like wizards? How do you think they hunt the demiguise? Even those gun wards are magical enough to effect the electronic sighting on a sniper rifle, you know."

The boy shut up after that, though he didn't look happy about it. One kid asked about protective equipment that she'd seen before at a sporting goods store. Apparently, they would be using the finger guards she mentioned, as well as another type for the eastern style. Arm guards, however, were professed to be "designed to encourage weakness and bad form," and were forbidden. Another kid asked if any former students had gone on to the Olympics for archery, which the older students seemed to find so hilarious they didn't answer, and only shooed everyone off to dinner when they had finished laughing.

Henry grimaced, as Mondays were basically curry days, which he already hated, and pretty much meant he had to fill up on side dishes. That quantity of burning spice was not worth the ice cream they served afterward, for all that most everyone else seemed to like it. Disliking and therefore not eating a food was still kind of a novel experience for Henry, and he kind of enjoyed turning down the cafeteria ladies, for once. Some of the other boys had dared each other to order the extra hot version, and eat all of it. One of them tried to get him to join them.

"Course, Carpenter is too scared to even eat regular ol' curry, isn't that right?"

"Yeah, you chicken Carpenter," they chorused, teasing him.

"I don't need some stupid curry to breath fire," Henry retorted, and with only a little redirection of his magical focus, blew out a stream of orange flames from his mouth. "How's that, lads?"

"Shit, how did you do that, man? Some trick candy you slipped in while we weren't looking?"

Henry opened his mouth wide, "no trick, see? Just a bit of the ole magic." For fun, he snapped his fingers and made a flame appear in one hand, then the other, before blowing another line of fire out his mouth.

"You a fire elemental, or something? Nobody's that good with fire otherwise, I think," said one of the boys.

"Not that I know of, as of now. They won't let me take the talent tests till I'm done with these nutrient potions," he replied, then grimaced and downed one, and everyone nodded sympathetically, "I'll tell you all when I know, ok? Anyone ready for ice cream yet?"

Diverted, the whole group charged back up to the counter, and Henry added elemental magic to his list of topics to research that evening, before going to bed. He wasn't sure what they meant, besides not being about the periodic table, no matter how ridiculous he thought it was to think of fire as an element. His list was really getting a bit long, he realized. It seemed as thought the magical world was just full of mysteries that were common knowledge to those born to it. He simply had to catch up, somehow, Henry realized.

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That night, Henry shared a dream with a certain little red haired girl who lived on a distant island, and was taking an afternoon nap at the time, against her wishes, for the last time. In this dream, they saw what could have been older versions of themselves in a cottage, the dark haired man crumpling to the floor in the front room, glassy-eyed, the woman crying out wordlessly in an upstairs room, her back to an empty crib. With the sound of her voice, flames appeared, immolating the cottage, and covering her unharmed form. Almost all features of the place were destroyed in that sudden blast of flames, though the man was untouched, and the upstairs did not collapse, as it would have in an ordinary fire. The conflagration ended as she fell dead, save for a few soft flames in her hair, before they too winked out.

When the little girl woke up, every candle in her room had a brilliant green flame on it, which burned nothing, and could only be extinguished by her touch. Henry awoke to find, when he went to get one of his crystals to carry around, that all of them now had a small blue spark flickering in them, whether they had previously been charged with magic or not. He wondered, not for the first time, what his parents had looked like, if this dream had been based on some faint baby memory.

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The library had far more information on fire elementals than any of the other four types of so-called elemental mages, presumably because they were more interesting and destructive. This made the topic far more confusing, however, as they intersected with myths and other kinds of fire-based magical powers. Dragons, djinns, the firebird, a fellow from the Carpathians called Levan Firestorm, who was not a wizard, as well as various great historical fires all came up when he tried to search the topic. About all he could discover for sure was that fire powers tended to be innate talents, trainable, but generally not learned, aside from a few basic fire spells and the like, most of which had been designed to imitate the kind of thing fire mages and beings could do with their bare hands. Nothing was totally clear enough to tell him what kind of fire talent he had, which only had Henry anticipating the talent inventory even more.

Classes that day seemed to really drag, if only because Henry was anticipating his extracurricular meetings afterwards. They had to be doing the most boring thing possible in gym—running the mile. While trying, it wasn't as though the track was very interesting or diverting, and herbology/potions was almost as bad. Ordinarily, Henry loved the practical way the class combined knowledge and applications, but today, they were basically being used as free labor, having been assigned to either weed the basic greenhouses they'd been working in, or to scrub the lab tables. The professor was absent, but the class hadn't been cancelled, so the teacher's assistants, older students, were there to supervise and make sure they didn't do anything they weren't supposed to do to the plants.

Henry was a lot happier about how the morning had gone, when the track team immediately demanded running times from everyone, as they were the ones who had requested the gym classes to run the mile. After expressing pleasure at his time, and most other team members, the coach proceeded to spend the rest of the practice making them stretch, run short drills, and tearing their running styles apart, till they rant the way he wanted them too, with proper stride and posture. According to his rant, the older kids had gotten sloppy over break.

Fortunately, Henry did not have to experience much of the coach's ire, having a very economical way of moving, learned by necessity. He was already afraid of Thursday, though, as they would be doing hurdles, and he'd never even seen how anyone did that, noticing only that where they rested against the fence, the hurdles were higher than his waist, even with his recent growth spurts. All this exercise meant that at dinner, his appetite was completely thrown off—Henry felt like he was starving, but when he tried to eat, he was so agitate he could only eat a few bites before he felt some nausea. Luckily, the dance team decided to start off slow that evening, with some very simple rhythm exercises, involving sitting in chairs and snapping fingers, which was a huge relief for poor exhausted Henry.

By the time he went to bed that night, Henry felt much more calm, until the dream came. All night, as soon as he was asleep, he dreamt of a dark man shouting, "defend yourself," then hitting him in the head somehow, which woke him up immediately. Every time, he was unable to do anything but stand there and wait for the coming blow. This happened seven times before Henry gave up on trying to sleep. He spent the morning making a dream catcher from a pattern in a library book out of threads from some of his old shirts and fallen twigs from the edge of the jungle. He even rigged up a little frame to hang it over the head of his bed. With any luck, there actually was some inherent magic in what he had been told was a mundane craft object.

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That night, in a sprawling English manor house, a pale boy woke up sweating, having dreamt once again that he was a girl with tangled hair and a strange interest in slimy bugs and discarded bits of detritus like bottle caps, broken rubber bands, and firework casings, not that he knew what those odd bits of plastic were. He swore, as always, to do all he could to be nothing like this girl, afraid that it might turn him into one. Grabbing the brush on his nightstand, the boy combed and straightened his own blond hair till it lay flat in gleaming lines, before lying back down. He would not tell even his mother of these dreams.

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Henry, however, slept without dreams, though thanks to the ritual, he still woke up early. To his surprise, there was a bit of black slime on one of the strings of his dream catcher, though he was not sure, for it was gone when he tried to look at it again. Nor did he have much time to ponder this, for it was Saturday already. The week had just flown by, with the Thursday track practice revealing that he'd have to wait for hurdles till he'd grown a bit more, and really nothing else outstanding in Henry's mind. Now he had special permission and a direct portal scheduled from the school to the bank, so that he could go through the lineage ritual, as planned. He put on his best clothes, which were, of course, the school uniform, before gulping down a roll he'd pocketed the night before at dinner to speed up the breakfast process. He dashed down to the headmaster's office, where the jovial man was eating a huge breakfast at his desk.

"You're here awfully early, my lad," he chortled between bites, "in a hurry to find out if you've got any money, eh?"

"I do have a seven am meeting, sir, and don't wish to be late," Henry replied calmly, "may I have the portal activated?"

"Want a bite to eat before you go?" The man indicated the overloaded trays of his own repast.

"No sir, just the portal," he said, more firmly time, "I'm much too nervous to eat, and know enough about goblins to not wish to anger them."

"Alright then, lad, hold your horses. Here it is," he said, digging an expensive looking pressed card out of some papers, "don't forget to hold on tight!"

As soon as Henry took it, the headmaster tapped the seal with his wand, and before he'd gotten a good look at the seal, Henry had collapsed on the large version of it on the marble floor of the bank he'd first visited while shopping for school supplies. He could just see a few of the tents out the doors, still sparkling with morning dew, as he picked himself up off the floor. Without a second glance, he walked up to an open teller and silently handed the goblin the card. The creature glanced at it for only a moment, before shouting over his shoulder, "Ripstack, the boy from MPEd is here for his ritual. Come and take him back!"

The summoned goblin darted forward and under the counter to join Henry, and led him off down a gloomy torch lit corridor. It left him in a smallish side chamber with a number of uncomfortable leather chairs. Henry had just discovered that they squeaked when he sat down on them, when Ripstack darted back in and pulled him down the hall and into a gloomy office. "The is Gnarlfist, in charge of inheritance and bank rituals. Do what he says." With that, he was gone, and Henry was left alone with the white-haired goblin behind the desk.

Walking forward, Henry spoke tentatively, "Hello, sir, my name is…"

"Meaningless until the ritual has been completed," the goblin interrupted. "Give me your dominant hand."

Henry held out his right hand, and the goblin stabbed the palm with a silver dagger, before turning it down over a large goblet. Oddly, he felt no pain, and when the goblin let his hand go, he could see no sign of the injury that had bled into the goblet. Gnarlfist swirled the cup three times counter-clockwise, before throwing it onto the large blank wall opposite the door. It was made of crystal, and shattered in a shower of bloodstained glass shards, and Henry jumped out of his seat in alarm, having only just sat down. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a misty red vine seemed to grow out of the point of impact, spreading across the rough stone wall, filing it with fine branches and little curls. "Well," said the goblin, "that's more magical than I expected from a scholarship kid."

With that, he pulled open a drawer and took a scroll, which said, "Salient Points Pedigree" at the top, and affixed it to the point of impact. Names and other writing began to fill the blank space on the scroll, which unrolled almost to Henry's feet before it stopped. The goblin gave it a shake before Henry could read anything, and it rerolled. The vines began to fade, also. "Don't worry, lad," Gnarlfist said, "your family vaults will have tapestries to show nearly the same web. For now, we'll have a look at what's important."

"What do you mean by family vaults, sir?"

The goblin said nothing, merely held out the scroll for Henry to read.

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**Salient Points Pedigree:**

Harold Jamison Potter, also termed Henry Evan Carpenter, son of

James Tiberius Potter, son of

Tiberius Charlus Potter, son of

Charlus Stephan Potter, son of

Stephan Michael Potter, grand wizard and philosopher to the queen

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and son of Lily Anne Evans, also termed Lillian Potter, daughter of

Marie Anne Parker and Llewis Felonius Evans, son of

Archibald Howitzer Evans and Wednesday Friday Addams, daughter of

Gomez Charlus Addams and Morticia Nevus, also termed Mrs. Addams

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The lists were actually side-by-side, descending below each of his parent's names, but Henry honestly had to stop reading there, as he was thoroughly startled by these revelations. "A key to one of our standard trust vaults had appeared," the old goblin said, pulling the boy from his daze, "and the rest of your vaults would be blood keys, if you have any others available when you come of age. We will look into these relations of yours, and send post on results. For now, you may keep this brief form of your results. Would you like to access your trust vault?"

"Ah, yes, of course," he stammered. "I also kneed to know if my families allow me to complete the institute's standard talents test ritual."

"We will get back to you on that, Mr. Potter." The goblin then rang a small bell. "I'm summoning an assistant to take you to the vaults. You may expect a response from us within the week."

"I think I would prefer to go by Mr. Carpenter, for now. There could be a reason why my name was changed."

"We will do so once I am certain there is no prohibition against it in your family bylaws. What you are called at school and by friends has at this point less by way of legal implications, and is your decision."

Henry sighed, and wondered who his parents were, and if they were anything like his aunt and uncle. The trust vault held no clues, being nothing more than a pile of gold and silver. "British standard," the goblin had called the coins, "it would be best to get an automatic key pouch. Rather a bit like a credit card, if you know what that is, except you get real cash out of here, instantly converted into whatever kind of magical or mundane money needed, as selected."

"How expensive is something like that?"

"We actually make enough money on the exchange rates, we don't have to charge you anything for one," the little creature replied with a nasty smile.

"Then I suppose I had better get one, even if I can order from catalogues using just the key, right?"

"Yes, and that's how you'll have to pay for school, now that they'll get a report on you not needing their scholarships any more."

Henry frowned at that, but was distracted when the goblin brought him a small piece of parchment. "Found this buried under a pile of added interest money. Perhaps this isn't a completely standard trust vault. It looks like a letter for you, sir." Henry took it with trembling fingers, and broke the Potter seal to unfold the parchment and read something written by people whose very existence had been unknown to him until today's revelations.

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To my son, on the day this account was opened

Your father has told me that these accounts are standard requirements of his kind of pureblood family, and refill automatically from the family vaults, so you can spend as much as you want. I come from a more frugal tradition, and would point out that no fortune is bottomless, however great, and that it is also to pay for your education, my son, which is why you had not heard it mentioned by us till you started your magical schooling. So, happy eleventh birthday, Harry, and make me proud.

Love, your mother

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"But why did she think I wouldn't see this till I was eleven? Two years from now?" He was unable to process more important features of the letter yet.

"Because your trust is in England, as were the Potters, where they have started such educations at that age for centuries," said the goblin driving the cart, "We were only here as a result of a very special feature of the tunnels of Gringotts."

"Like the 'all forests are one' spell?"

"Yes, except that it only works for creatures like goblins who dig and delve beneath the surface for a living."

"Still, it is odd to think that for a moment that I was back in the land of my birth."

"Inside it indeed," chortled the goblin.

It seemed like only a moment later, before Henry was back on the surface, where he was told that the Gringotts port seals to the school were set to leave at certain times, and that the next was at noon, giving him perhaps two hours to kill, and that he should get out of the bank to do so and not get in the way. Outside, Henry noticed that there was quite a difference between the little shopping area when he had first visited it and now. Perhaps there was simply less now that back-to-school shopping was over for the year. Still, it was lovely, and he wandered around, buying only a thin and supposedly unbreakable chain, with which he hung his new key around his neck. Then, on a whim, he also got Chinese food from a little booth for lunch, rather than waiting to get back to school, before returning to catch his portal.


	8. Aftermath

Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his. And now, in this chapter, I give the dear lad some more copyrighted relatives. Please don't eat me, oh various TV corporations who own them! I would say something specific, but that would be telling, na na na!

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Eight: Aftermath

As soon as he was back at school, Henry went straight to the health center for his appointment, switched just this once to the afternoon. "The bank still has to check and see if my family has any problems with doing the ritual about any talents," he said when they asked how the trip had gone, "and why my name was changed."

"So who are you, then, Mr. Carpenter," an amused healer asked.

"I won't say till I know I don't have to go by this name."

"What, do you fancy yourself part of some witness protection program, like what the Americans have?"

"I was born in England during the most recent magical war, is all I can say for sure."

"Very mysterious, lad, I'll not tell a soul," said the healer, as he checked Henry over. "You'll still need another week at least on the nutrient potions."

"How can you tell?"

"Because, once you reach the height you should be now, you'll stop growing so fast, my boy."

"What if I'm supposed to be having a growth spurt right now?" Henry wanted to cover all his bases.

"In that case, you'll still need the extra nutrients. Your vision's getting better, as well. I don't think you'll need glasses at all right now, but who knows about later on down the road. Here's the box, now off you go."

Altogether, it had been his shortest trip to the medical wing yet, leaving him with most of the afternoon remaining. Wandering aimlessly, Henry found himself in the library, where he sought out a secluded, yet still sunny corner and pulled out the scroll from the goblins. He still wasn't sure he could ever think of himself as Harold, even if it was similar to Henry, especially considering that his mother at least had called him Harry when he was a baby. At least it explained why he'd been called Henry, given the conversation between "Uncle" Virgil and "Aunt" Peony, he'd once overheard, about what he'd responded to as an infant. Even so, he wasn't sure he could really get used to being called Harry, either.

Unrolling the parchment further, he found them, unfortunately, in a section entitled "Currently Living Relations." Petunia Monica Evans, also termed Peony Dixon, married to Vernon Horace Dursley, also termed Virgil Dixon, and son Dudley Vernon Dursley, also termed Dewey Dixon. Frankly, this dashed a lot of hopes he'd had of not being related to them, though he still held out hope they'd kidnapped him in hopes of getting money from his rather more wealthy parents. Plus, it hurt to have to envision his mother as a sister of the woman he'd grown up calling Aunt Pony behind her back for her horsy face. He had always held images of parental perfection and beauty in his mind when considering his long-lost parents. Plus, he still didn't know for sure if they were alive or dead, though they weren't specifically listed in this section of the document, though he'd checked.

Then, inspiration struck, and Henry walked over to the library help desk. "I'm looking for information on British magicals with the last names Potter, Evans, or Addams. Which areas should I look under?"

The librarian looked moderately surprised, then nodded briskly, "It depends—if you are thinking in terms of British magical peerage, I'd look at genealogy sections from the late midieval to Victorian period. The Addams Family is primarily American, you should know. If you've been given a research project on the British Troubles with dark lords, and the fall of Voldemort in 1981 to the last of the Potters, you'll need modern history."

"I erm, well," Henry spluttered, before collecting himself, "mostly I'm interested in the latest Potters, and all of that, but would like to tie it in a bit with the old peerage info on them. And British noble family laws they might have had, since I don't know much about that important background stuff."

"Nobody much does except for them, those secretive, stuffy nobles. But you do look a little lost, anyways," the librarian conceded, her stern expression softening, "what class assigned a little tyke like you such a huge paper?"

"It's um, a bit of an independent and long term project," Henry was trying not to panic, "I grew up in the regular world, in Australia, but know I was born in England. So I researched some of the mundane history before coming here. Now I want to learn about magical Britain."

"And naturally, the Potter name has already come up. An admirable goal, if a bit beyond yourself, lad," she said, "I'll get you started on some of the basic histories of the troubles, and a few biographies of the late James and Lily Potter." At this, Henry made an odd strangled gasping sound, before she continued, "just keep in mind that there tend to be a lot of contradictions in accounts of these times. Reporters writing history, you know," she said with some disdain.

Henry followed the librarian numbly as she walked down the stacks, taking the books she indicated with him back to his corner with a mumbled "thank you." Researching his family had seemed like a good idea right until hearing a librarian casually mentioning that his parents really were dead. At least the pictures in the books were a relief—his mother seemed to have gotten her sister's share of the family good looks along with her own. Actually reading the books did reveal a lot of inconsistencies, as the librarian had warned. All he could really tell for sure was that hey had both been found dead by the killing curse on the same Halloween night after his first birthday, and that afterwards the dark lord had been declared vanquished, which seemed to be true, as magical Britain had not seen him since.

The rest of the details seemed to be pure speculation, about how the events were connected, and why he had disappeared, or what had actually happened in that cottage. Even on the subject of the employment of his parents there was little agreement. Most likely they were just living on his father's family fortune, not secret ministry spell research employees. Henry's favorite ludicrous story for shear over-the-top madness was that he was prophesied to defeat the dark lord, who had killed his parents personally, before casting the undefeatable killing curse on his baby self, which had rebounded and physically destroying the dark lord. This story also claimed that he had an indelible curse scar in the form of a stylized lightning bolt centered on his forehead, all this about an event that had no eyewitnesses. He did have a faint zigzagging scare above one eye, but it had hardly changed when the dark magic had been taken out of his head, so he doubted it was related.

Henry sighed, and turned to the genealogical books, in the off chance they were more informative. Probably not, considering that the records seemed to indicate that the Evans line was entirely mundane, when he knew the Addams side at least was magical in America. Everything was written in such formal language he could hardly understand it. Suddenly, he noticed supper would be over in about fifteen minutes, and dashed off, dumping the bothersome books in the return bin on his way. The healers would have his hide if he missed a meal and nutrient dose. Fortunately, he made it in record time, though he had to settle for his least favorite flavor of pizza. He could never figure out why people around here seemed to think pineapple was a normal topping for a hot dish like pizza.

After he was done eating, Henry went to the post center, and asked if he could send an ordinary letter from there. "I mean, I don't have one ready to send yet, but it absolutely has to arrive by ordinary means, not some kind of trained bird, ok?"

"My boy, this is a real post office. We may have an aviary attached, and exist in a school, but sending mail in ordinary fashions is why we are here," said the man behind the desk rather pompously.

"How much does postage to Australia cost, then, so I'll have the right amount at hand once I get the letter written?" The man only pointed at a convenient chart, which had prices in a variety of currencies, even. Henry nodded, and went back to his room, sat down at his desk, and stared at a blank piece of paper for a long time, before he started to write.

Dear Aunt P,

Considering that we will not be seeing each other again, this is probably my last chance to contact you, unless you've already moved. I have recently gotten some information from a particularly nasty breed of bankers, regarding my dearly departed parents. However, I have not been informed of the reasons for the secrecy under which I was raised. Whatever you can tell me about your lost sister in a letter, or why we are in Australia would be of great help in my future dealings with this world. I don't really need the petty details of how she grew up, or anything, and hardly expect anything nice like that from you. If you ever do need to contact me, the school address should suffice for the next seven years.

Your Nephew H

Henry honestly didn't expect a reply to this letter, ever, but wondered if he'd hear anything from her if the family really did get investigated by family services. Such a letter might actually be amusing, especially if he didn't have to hear that lecture in the shouted version they would have preferred. He took a bit of perverse pleasure in imagining their rants, had his family heard that he was going to church regularly. As he sat in the mission sanctuary the next day, he wondered if should feel guilty for having such vindictive thoughts about the Dixons, or Dursleys, or whoever they were. Looking around, he spotted Lauren, her red hair making it quite easy, and drifted over to ask her. "Erm, hello, Lauren Lentz, do you remember me?"

"Of course I do, silly, it isn't every week that I meet a Henry Carpenter!" Her voice was quite soft, even with the teasing tones, "how have your prayer experiments been going?"

"Oh, I didn't really pray a whole lot, I forgot. But I think things went as well as they could have, you know." Henry twisted his hands nervously, "is it wrong to think bad things about my relatives, and you know, laugh at them in a mean way?"

"Are these the same family members who never wanted to see you again after sending you here? I think that was what you were saying about them, but it has been a while…" she bit her lip.

"Yes, that's them alright. I hope the lawyers really do send somebody to investigate them, like they promised, and get them in big trouble, and, and, I'll laugh," he ended in a whisper.

"They weren't very good to you at all, were they," she said kindly, and Henry burst into tears, to his surprise. "I'm pretty sure God understands how you feel about them, wanting revenge, justice to fall on them. You can tell him about it, in a prayer, and ask him to forgive you, if you feel really bad about it, Henry." She wanted rather desperately to hug the boy, as he curled in on himself, sinking to the ground, shaking with silent sobbing. After a long silent moment, where she watched him, Henry roughly rubbed the tears off his face with a fist, looked up at Lauren with his mouth open, and vanished in a swirl of puce colored flames.

When Henry woke up hours later, with a foul taste in his mouth, he found himself laying on the cool dirt floor of the school ritual room he'd used before. He knew it had been hours when he whispered a quick "tempus" and found that it was four in the morning. He'd probably completely freaked Lauren out, vanishing that way. Now there would be one less person who would be nice to him. "Even in the freak world I'm a freak. How fantastic," he muttered to himself. The room had a slight echo, but his words came back twisted, "fantasssstic freakssss," all sibilant and whispery. It was pitch black, too, the lighting charms or torches probably only activated by people coming through the door, and suddenly Henry was afraid.

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Far away in London, the little girl with the riotous mass of curls was not even remotely afraid. In fact, she was on an outing to the zoo, with her parents, and the little family had left to have a picnic lunch in a nearby park. The three of them had just finished their sandwiches when a little blond girl leapt out of the bushes to tackle her. "Aha, Daddy, I knew it! the Rotfang Conspiracy has indeed kidnapped Princess Thumbelina in order to force her to collect the eyeteeth of unsuspecting children!"

At this, a rather befuddled looking man in a pith helmet stumbled out after her. "Now my dear moonlet, we can't just go around accusing people of being dentists with magical children."

"How on earth did you know all that about us?" It was hard to say which one of the Doctors Granger had spoken first. "How long have you two been following us?"

Their daughter sat up, despite the blonde's attempt to pin her down. "My name's not Thumbelina. I'm Maia."

"Rather the better version of the name, I should say," replied the blond, "You don't happen to have a tuft of hair growing out of your forehead, do you?"

"No, of course not," the brunette replied testily, "if I did, do you think I'd be around my parents?"

"You weren't abducted or adopted by these foul tooth-pullers, then?" asked the strange girl's father.

"No, I should say not. Who are you, sir, to insult my parents so?"

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"Lumos," Henry whispered, and gasped when the simple spell produced not a floating ball of light, but rather activated glowing white lines making up some sort of ritual circle around himself. This was not good, and not just because the room still remained extremely dark. Henry sat up and clasped his knees to his chest, "oh God preserve me, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, please help me, God," he began to murmur as he rocked back and forth on his haunches, "God, I don't even know what this ritual pattern is supposed to do, oh God, I'm so scared." He fell silent when he noticed some runes flaring at the sound of his voice. At a loud clicking sound, Henry jumped to his feet, small orange flames bursting into existence on his clenched fists.

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"Lucius Lovegood, at your service," the tall man responded to the girl with the wild curls, pulling a few blond flyaways back into the ponytail at the nape of his neck. "You can call me Odd, though, just like everyone else."

"You still haven't apologized for insulting my parents, sirrah," she said sternly.

He chuckled darkly, "now why would I bother, when they won't remember any of this happened, hmm?"

"Because little Maia here is a witch like me, daddycakes," said his daughter in a chiding tone, "and I can hardly have her hating me even more in school, later, than usual."

"Ah, of course," his bemused expression was back now, "I would never want to create enemies for my little snozzleberry, now would I? Please do accept my apologies. My phobia of dentists is quite extreme, though I do try to control it. I shall comfort myself with the thought that you are neither fudge."

"Apology accepted, provided we keep our memories and you tell us all something about the magical school, if you can," replied Maia's father, who was clearly not going to pursue the strange statements made by his counterpart.

"Wait just a minute," his daughter cried, "how do you guys already know about this magic? You never mentioned it to me, after all."

"Oh sweetie," her mother said, "the witch who gave us the seed said you might get a letter from her school when you were eleven. We wanted to wait to see if that actually happened, so as to not get your hopes up falsely."

"Ah, well, that is logical. Now how do you know what I am?" She said this very imperiously.

"The arglefrasiers in my baton can sense these things and have been telling me secrets ever since my Nana's elevenyith potion exploded on me," the girl replied, waving around the glittery handle of a baby push toy.

"And I suppose the side effects of that potion are unique and non-replicable."

"Daddy did look at his mother's notes, but she hadn't recorded anything on the last, unfortunately. You are the only one to try to understand. It's rather a bit like having a secret between friends, I'd imagine."

"If we'll be going to the same school someday, perhaps there is a chance we could become friends," Maia replied wistfully, "even though I'm not terribly fond of the way you tackled me."

"But why wait, when travel is fast and affordable?" This was shouted by Mr. Lovegood, "surely the dentists allow playdates?"

"We'd be delighted," they replied in unison, and that was that.

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The click turned out to be the door opening. Henry clutched his pounding heart, as he listened vaguely to what the two figures outlined in the strong light from the hallway were saying.

"I'm telling you," said a male voice, "it's completely pointless to search down here. There's just no way the little brat could have ended up down here. He's probably somewhere in the deep jungle, in the nest of some kind of local firebird."

"And I'm telling you, that kid came back to the school the last time he vanished. And if it is my job to search the basement level, by Merlin, I'm going to be thorough about it," said a voice Henry was able to identify.

"Professor Lowell?" Henry questioned softly, "is that you, sir?"

"Har-Henry, what are you doing in there?" The man shone a light of some kind into the room, making the boy wince at the brightness.

"I just woke up here. I think I've accidentally activated something here, if you can see the lines of light." The professor shut off his light. "With bunches of runes I could swear were moving."

"Bert," said Lowell, "you'd better go fetch a ritualist. That looks like a summoning circle, if I've ever seen one." After that, there was a long uncomfortable silence, as Henry swayed slightly in the center of the circle, and the professor leaned against the doorjamb wearily. "I'm getting too old to be up this late. Early, whatever. It should be dawn in less than an hour."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. You know something about me, don't you, professor. Or what else could that slip with my name mean, hmm?" Henry tried not to make his voice sound accusing.

"So you do know that you are going by a false name, after all. I was a friend of your father, James Potter, what seems like a lifetime ago." Lowell rubs his arms almost unconsciously. "Nothing could have surprised me more than seeing you here, however. I'd almost convinced myself I was imagining things."

"I hope you are willing to tell me everything, later," Henry said, seeing the other boy coming back with one of the women who had assisted with the large ritual to cast the dark magic out of his head. "Hello, I um, can't remember who you are. What, um, have I got myself into here?"

"Dear boy," she said with some alarm, "you've activated our containment ward circle for dangerous demon or djinn-kind! I'm going to have to confer with the healers. What on earth could have set them off? Boy," she said to the upper level student who'd fetched her, "you'd better get the head healer, and tell him to bring Carpenter's file."

Henry sighed and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor. This would probably take a while, before they'd get him out. It was just his luck that the delayed talent testing would turn out to be so important. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by my own freakishness anymore."

"Now, Harry, you are not a freak. The wards probably were probably just reacting to the fact that you were on fire when you disapparated. I mean, the Lentz girl did say you were on fire or something like it," Lowell said sternly.

"And being on fire is something I do quite often, or haven't you heard, fox? Please continue to call me Mr. Carpenter, professor." Henry was quite peeved.

"I had thought the rumors were just that. There isn't exactly a family history of strange magical powers on either side, for you," the professor said.

"Nevertheless," Henry said, "Here I am, with all kinds of firepower. I suppose you didn't know anything about my mother, then." The boy casually summoned up a fireball and began to toss it between his hands.

"I knew her—not as well as your father, but I knew her. She wasn't from a magical lineage, Mr. Carpenter. Her parents were completely ordinary." Lowell continued wistfully, "Lily had the reddest hair, and eyes as green as grass. I don't think you inherited anything from her, you are your father's image, right down to the hazel eyes."

Henry could not help but laugh, and laugh. When he could breath again normally, he spoke. "Do you know the phrase 'spittin image' is a corruption of saying 'spirit and image,' professor? I may be my father's image, but I have my mother's spirit. And her ancestors were anything but ordinary. Even ordinary people know the Addams family is magical,"

The ritualist, who had been silently watching this conversation like a tennis match couldn't help but gasp aloud at this revelation. "By all the gods, lad, you really might be part anything, the way that family is rumored to be. Demon, djinn, dragon, firedrake, firebird, anything really. Don't look at me like that, Lowell! Have you really never heard of the Addams family?"

"What!" said the head healer upon arrival, "don't tell me this has something to do with them! I thought I was here to see what's to be done about Mr. Carpenter. How badly hurt is he?"

"There's nothing wrong with him, except that he set off the creature containment wards for flame travel. We need to know what he is, and how to get him out of there, safely. For everybody." Her last words sounded quite ominous to Henry.

"When was the last time you had one of your nutrient potions, Henry?" The healer was basically ignoring the ritualist's comments.

"Lunch yesterday, no actually, I never made it there. Breakfast," Henry said, feeling rather guilty for missing that many meals.

"Good, we should be able to give you the talent revealer potion, then, with no problems. Please tell me I can just levitate it over to him," the healer glared at the woman who could answer his question.

"It would interfere. You could actually just walk over there. It is only a barrier to him."

"Well, that's even better. I'll need to run a scanning spell, anyways," he said, and walked quickly to Henry, and handed him the potion. "Bottoms up, Henry, try to get it all in one gulp. This can knock people out, and with your history…"

"It surely will," Henry grimaced as he swallowed the thick fluid in the Erlenmeyer flask. "Do potions always have to taste…" he began before crumpling to the ground. Oddly, Henry's eyes stayed open—it was like he was petrified, or being held in stasis. Translucent red dragons and birds swirled around in the air between him and the healer, coalescing into some kind of snake. He could see the man's mouth open and close, but heard nothing but a kind of rushing or roaring sound. The room seemed to recede, till he felt like a tiny bug exposed in a huge barn. Henry could actually feel the tug of magic that levitated and carried him out of the room in the healer's wake. Only then did he actually pass out. Nothing could have surprised him less than waking up in a hospital bed. "So, what am I, exactly?"

The young healer at his bedside must have been assigned to wait for him to wake, because he jerked up from leaning against the wall. "You are a full djinn of the ifreet tribe, in addition to being a wizard," he said, reading off a paper, "since apparently being a djinn is one of those dominant traits, which actually makes no sense, since it can skip generations. Magic always complicates inheritence."

"Would that be a reason my mother might have had flames flickering in her hair, faintly?" Henry was surprised when the healer nodded.

"I'm kind of surprised yours doesn't, actually. Your mother must be an active ifreet, as well, if that's what her hair is like. I made some of these beings a hobby for a while before I got into healing, actually."

"My mother is dead, actually," Henry said, trying not to show his sorrow.

"Well, you'll need to contact some other ifreet then, for training. There's more to being a djinn than just the fire."

"Like all the wishes and living in bottles garbage? I've read my fables, too. Aren't they Middle Eastern? How can I contact one of those clans?"

"I'm sure there has to be at least one professor around here who is in contact with some clan or another. There's really no rush, djinn powers are usually activated at puberty. I mean besides the fire, obviously. I could be wrong in your case, actually," the healer finished, rather uselessly.

Henry sighed, "I'm starving, actually. Can I eat? Am I going back on the nutrient potions?"

"Oh, right, yes, let me just warm up your tray here. Did you know ifreets have an affinity with snakes, along with fire? You might even be able to talk to them!"

"Yeah, I know. My cousin used to have one as a pet. Most boring thing to talk to, ever."


End file.
